Natha keeshe lu' natha khaliizi
by Eagle White
Summary: What do you get when you place a snarky Spellsword  with a child's soul and a half-crazed priestess of the Queen of the Demonic Abyss in a place full of young wizards? Well, only one way to find out! Warning, contains drow-like people
1. Al, nindol zhah myar

**Hey, is this thing on? Oh… err, yeah, I guess it is. OK, let's give it a shot.**

**Greetings and salutations to you, brave souls, that found it in themselves to check out what hides under this mysterious title. I am your host, Eagle White, and I do hope that you'll spend at least a moment of your time reading this… story I guess.**

**Now before we venture deeper in to the plot I would like a moment of your time to explain a few issues that may arise during your reading of my story debut. As you may see, this story is in the crossover section of Fanfiction, under Harry Potter and Forgotten Realms section to be more precise. That said I need to inform you about a couple of changes that I made in the cannon/settings of the respective parts of this piece.**

**Let's start with the Forgotten Realms. As some of you may know in the last years, especially after the publication of the 4.0 Edition rulebooks for Dungeons and Dragons many a change had happened in the continent of Faerûn and on Toril as w whole. Most noticeably the Spellplague that was the direct result of the assassination of Mystra, the goddess of magic took place. In my setting however the Spellplague never did happen and Mystra (and as a result Azuth and Savras all still in the Dweomer Heart (or whatever it's called in English)) is still alive and well. That said, the massive changes in landscape hadn't happen as well as the rise to godhood of the archdevil Asmodeus. The second noticeable change is that Eilistraee, the good drow deity is alive, which can't be said about her brother, Vhaeraun. This change should be more noticeable than the other because… you'll know it when you read it. Basically, if anyone reading this has a copy of **_**Faiths and Pantheons **_**all the deities beside Vhaeraun are still present (sometimes however they aren't the same as you know them, but that's for you to find out, if I get that far of course).**

**Now, having said that let's move on to the changes in the Harry Potter realm. Basically the only thing changed is that the story begins in 2005 which should mean that the end of book seven should take place in 2012. I have my reasons for doing this and just so you know, parts of this work will use real world events that transpired during this period of time. Just so you know, this was originally written in 2008/09 and had since changed a bit, new concepts invading my mind while watching news and the like, giving me new plothooks. Saying that you should be able to tell what events are real. Oh, and just to be cautious: one of the described events in this work (well, maybe in sequels that I plan) may seem to be described politically incorrect, but it has a purpose. If someone feels insulted by it, I sincerely apologize in advance, that was not my intention.**

**OK, having that all said and done there are only two, maybe three things left to say. First of all: if any of you feel like reviewing my "work" please bear in mind that English is not my first language. If you happen to see awkward sentence constructions or other strange things that's why. I will hopefully over time get better at it, but it will be a long way before I begin to write it entirely correctly.**

**Secondly: most of this work and a good portion of the sequel is already written. That said it will be periodically updated, but not because of my laziness but the fact that it's written in Polish, my native language. You may ask "why haven't you posted it in Polish if you have it all already?" To answer that: don't take me wrong but I'm aiming at a broader audience. Well, that and my kinsmen tend to be really picky, and I'm not that good. Either way, I don't have a schedule and updates will be posted "as I translate 'em".**

**Oh, good thing I thought about it. I need to address one more thing: this is more than only a adventure/fantasy fic. As it's not exactly possible to fit more than two of the filters into this thing (pokes the genre part of the story synopsis) I'll just add it here. This will be a: adventure/friendship/fantasy with a bit of humor added to the mix. And just to be sure: rated T, possibly M in later parts due to coarse language, violence and sexual references.**

**Well, time to end this ridiculously long authors note. I wish you a good time reading my story. Hope to see you again.**

**Eagle White**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I do not own anything that may be remotely considered a property of anyone else. The Harry Potter series, the Forgotten Realms setting, Neverwinter Nights and Dungeons&amp;Dragons are all owned be their respective owners. There is a fragment of a song called The Moon by Dark Moor used in this chapter, which I too don't own.<strong>

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><p><em><strong>Natha keeshe lu' natha khaliizi<strong>_

_**Chapter One**_

_**Al, nindol zhah myar***_

Darkness filled the halls of the ancient tomb for centuries now. Carved in granite, decorated with marble sculptures and mosaics dimmed with the passage of years, despite centuries of neglect presented a real site to behold, even in this part of the Realms. The Sword Cost and Savage Frontier alike were littered with sites like this, the last remnants of the once grate Illefarn Empire, the builders of the Song Portals, an elvish and dwarvish alliance, a thing so strange, that to this day it's the only known case in the history of the world. This one ruin however was different. To this day undiscovered, it held riches and relicts of an ancient land, artefacts with the power that made the wildest dreams of the most insane wizards pale in comparison. After all, if the elves and dwarves could stand their ground against the flying cities of Netheril, their magic must have been exceptional. A great example of this was the King of Shadows, formerly known as the Guardian of Illefarn, a powerful, almost god-like being that up until now has threatened the existence of Neverwinter twice and who was stopped not so long ago by the Knight-Captain of Crossroad Keep and his companions, a knight wielding the holy Sword of Gith, a silver blade and most holy relict of the Gityanki race.

The lure of riches and artefacts of the elves and dwarves of Illefarn was as irresistible as it was deadly. Many a adventurer has lost their lives looking for places like this, and these who managed to find them needed to overcome deadly traps and monsters, that infested these crypts. And even if they managed to find their way to the treasures, they still needed to get out alive from the frequently unstable ruins that could collapse on their heads at any second. Many of them stayed in the ruins of the ancient empire forever, though not in this one. It was covered in shadows, undisturbed for decades upon decades. Up until today…

"You can run, Male, but you can't hide from the wrath of Lolth!" A feminine shout, full of malice, bloodlust and a hint of amusement pierced the dark corridor. "You can't run from the will of the Spider Queen!"

Her voice, beautiful in its drowish way and trembling with excitement fell upon deft ears. The darkness before her stayed silent, answering her only with the faint sounds of footsteps. Her eyes shone for a split second, adjusting to her innate ability of seeing in the darkness, and with a delighted smile on her lips she rushed in towards the sound of receding footsteps.

Strands of her silky-white hair fluttered behind her like a cape. Her fast, catlike movements were only slightly limited by the leather armor that she wore. By her belt, near her pouch used for storing potions, scrolls and her spellbook two twin blades rattled, both of them rapiers forged from mithral and both of them enchanted in unique and deadly ways. They weren't however the weapons, that the Dark Elf used right now. In her hand was a crackling whip, tipped with a live serpents head, a gift from the Spider Goddess for her faithful servant. The fury of the animal head served only to further amuse his mistress, a mistress, that disregarded the warnings in the mosaic walls, or rather didn't see them in the infrared spectrum in which she was currently looking. Her preys traces were easy to spot, shining with warmth in this cold environment. He couldn't run to far, not in his current state.

He was bleeding. He was bleeding for a good couple of minutes now, his skin shred by the snakes fangs and with poison in his veins. It was a miracle, that his body was capable of fighting of the toxin, and the fact that he was still capable of walking was confirming his suspicions. The gods had plans regarding him… or were a bunch of sick bastards taking pleasure in his suffering. He hadn't even had a chance to intone a short song, that could heal his wound. Well duh… of course he haven't! That lunatic of a woman, his so called nemesis just had to strike him so openly and brutally, not giving him the slightest chance to prepare or rest. She was stalking him, chasing him around with such vigor, that he wondered if she got turned on by all his near death experiences. After fifteen years on the surface it kind of got old.

He was a drow, just like her. Like her he had dark skin and long, silvery-white hair. They both had strange, lily-colored eyes. They both hailed from Menzoberranzan, a dark elf metropolis. Finally, they both knew some magic (he a fair bit more as he liked to tell himself). And that was all, that they had in common. She was devoted to Lolth, a fanatical priestess of the Spider Queen of the drow. He however was a faithful of the Dark Maiden, Eilistraee, he believed in her even before he escaped the confides of his homeland and chose living on the surface. She drew upon torturing her enemies and killing surfacedwellers while he searched a understanding with them. She hated the moonlight and was blinded by the sun, he however loved the moon and grew used to the daylight. She was one of the daughters of the Matron Mother of the third noble family in their hometown while he was only the First Son of the Matron Mother of the seventh family. Finally: she was safe and sound while he was losing more and more blood with each step.

This was utterly ridiculous. He spent almost one hundred years in the Sorcere tower god damn it! He knew magic capable of overcoming even the biggest inconvenience, but he couldn't use it to heal his side. "It's the domain of the priestesses" they said. "We don't have the right to work around their holy powers" they said. He however knew better. At the first opportunity that he had he learned bardic music of the surfacedwellers just so he could heal his own wounds. And now? Now he didn't even have the time to stop for a moment and pull a string or two of his lute or catch some breath and sing something. And, of course, the only healing magic he knew required from him just that: music. What use does he have of magic when he can't even use it for fuck's sake!

The sheath of his katana repeatedly hit the side of his leg. It was a beauty of a blade, his pride and joy: a sword with which he managed to survive almost as many encounters as with using his magic. His weapon, practically a extension of his arm by now, hid a lot of secrets. From the time that he, while being incapable of using his magic was forced to fight for his life with a dire bear and actually won he spent many years learning how to fence and trying to merge magical and physical prowess into one. He became known as the Spellsword, a being that houses magic in himself and in his blade. He always kept at least one spell hidden in the handle of his deadly weapon, and right about now he was furious that he didn't think of placing a healing spell in it. The Hells, why didn't he think about that! But no… He had to place some invocations supporting his strength and dexterity. And for what? Urgh…

He staggered slowly down the dark hallway, supporting himself on the mosaic wall with one hand, clutching his injured side with the other. He knew very well that he wasn't cautious enough, that his blood was dripping on the floor and leaving a clear trail along with the orange and yellow smears of his warmth on the walls. He couldn't however do anything about it. If he'll stop, he'll let her come near him. If he'll try to heal himself, he'll lose precious time that she'll use to get to him and make him regret that he stopped in the first place. He could do just one thing: run as fast as his tired legs could carry him and pray for a miracle. And whichever god was listening to his pleads, it showed his compassion.

He found a fork in the road. The hall that he used until now went in two separate ways. Darkness filled the left and right corridor, but nonetheless it gave him hope. He approached the fork as fast as he could, went down the left hall and with a shine in his eyes spun around, making a series of complex gestures with his free hand. If he's lucky enough he'll maybe able to win himself some desperately needed time.

His tracks were getting more pronounced by the minute. He must be staggering, that was sure. His blood stained the floor more clearly, his heat tracks on the walls were getting hotter with each step, replacing the fading reds with shades of orange. A evil smirk found its way on her lips. Her pray was close. So close…

Suddenly she stopped dead, looking in front of herself with bewilderment. For a moment she didn't have the slightest idea what she was looking at. Maybe her eyes switched themselves back to the spectrum of visible light? A quick look at her hand, shining with bright yellow dispelled her doubts. Before her was a sphere of impenetrable darkness, a darkness so dark, that even her amazing eyes weren't able to see through it. If something like this happened with any other man she would be furious. Her victim however wasn't a regular male.

"Very clever, Zak!" She shouted, her voice a mix between fury, credit and extreme amusement. "To use our heritage against me! Your getting more resourceful by the year! But it's still futile, you can't run from Lolth's wrath!"

With a determined step she went inside the sphere of shadows. She was confident, she knew that her prey must have used at least a couple of seconds to use this spell like ability, innate to every drow. That meant, that he was closer than she previously thought. And the fact that he was bleeding slowed him down even more. He hadn't had the slightest chance of escaping her. Well, he wouldn't have if the hall didn't split right here.

When she hit the wall that she wasn't expecting, she stopped, confused about what just happened. Did the male use some of his magic to conjure up this wall? No, this didn't make any sense, and as far as she knew he wasn't capable of doing that in his current state. That must have meant, that the corridor took a sharp turn or (what was getting more probable with each passing second) forked. A look of recognition flashed through her face, but was quickly replaced with a watchful frown. She needed to chose one of the two possible ways, so, with a short prayer to her goddess she made a decision.

Right.

When she reached the edge of the supernatural darkness she stood for a moment, looking intently for any signs of her pray. Something wasn't right here. She wasn't able to spot any bloodstains on the floor, not to mention his thermal "fingerprints" on the walls. Had she underestimated this man? Was he able to cast some kind of illusion to mask his tracks? And then, when she was pondering all this the sounds of a short song reached her ears, piercing the mass of magical darkness.

"…Influence of the Moon

Can make an artist or a loon

Of loves"

"_It's the wrong corridor god damn it!"_ She shouted in her mind while she spun around and went back into the impenetrable darkness created by her adversary. She did however find this a clever move on his part. A bit risky, but clever nonetheless. Not only did he slow her down, he bought himself enough time to heal up his wounded side, and that meant that he was fully capable of defending himself. Now he could use his enchanted sword or the full potential of his magical, not to mention that now he wasn't slowed down like a few minutes ago. And that was what she loved about her enemy. Although he was only a dumb male, his cleverness and magical might made this chase fun for nearly fifteen years now.

"_Should hold up for now."_ Zak concluded while running down the hall, feeling his side in search of his wound. It wasn't there anymore, or rather wasn't as deep as it was a few minutes ago and wasn't constantly bleeding. The dull pain remained nevertheless, especially that a few moments ago there was a deep hole in the place of his new, shining skin, regrowed in a unnaturally quick manner. This unpleasant sensation wasn't strong enough to restrict him in any way however, and the boots that he was wearing allowed him to move quicker than normal. A small smirk appeared on his face for the first time in many days. Now at least he had a fighting chance against Tris.

With the healing of his side his senses sharpened considerably. He was now more aware of his surroundings, even with his adversary hot on his heels. Taking a few sharp turns forced by the shape of the corridor he began to carefully study the warnings carved in the walls by deft dwarven hands. Years of studying and experience with ruins of ancient Illefarn, as well as the knowledge of their now dead language allowed him to read a few phrases from the granite structure while he run. To the untrained eye they may have seemed completely random, but he was far from untrained. If this really was a tomb, like he suspected from his brief study of the structure of this place, the phrases on the walls served as hints as to what possible traps lay down the corridor. It was a standard Illefarn custom, made for those who wished to visit their deceased loved ones in the foreseeable future, and now it served as a alarm system for raiders clever enough to figure them out. So, a phrase such as "…no man or woman may cross this path, only children with pure hearts…" was a good enough hint for a experienced wanderer like himself.

Not losing time in the search for the right material component in his hip bag nor refreshing magical formulas in his mind he gripped the handle of his katana and focused. He sensed with his magical senses spells that he placed in his sword for cases like this and found one that he currently needed. Concentrating on it he felt a strange tingling passing through his body, that after a second or two began to recede. Pleased with the sensation he felt he dropped on his stomach and began to crawl in the quietest manner that was humanly possible, remembering both the warning on the wall and the chase. If he'll get lucky again it will be the last time he'll have to listen to her insane rambling. At least until somebody decides to resurrect her.

She took a few sharp turns at full speed, bearing in mind that the man she was chasing was in the possession of magical boots capable of boosting his speed. She couldn't let herself lose him again. Despite all the fun she had hunting for this male she was beginning to miss the masses trembling with fear before her, as well as the horde of warriors that her family was capable of issuing. Not to mention the _services_ of her slaves. But really, she better get her head out of the gutter, she had a treacherous male to hunt down and with each passing minute he was gaining distance, his heat traces becoming cold reds in her infrared vision.

Suddenly the trace all but vanished. She wasn't quite sure what could happen to do something like that. Normally a heat signature couldn't just brake off all of a sudden, excluding flying, teleportation and leaving the material plane of course. Well, the two last choices weren't exactly to likely: he didn't have the time. Flying too was a no-no, the ceiling was too low to allow that. She didn't hear him cast any spell either. So what did happen?

She didn't have the time to ponder on that question. A clicking sound reached her, followed by the sound of something cutting through the air. Letting instincts kick in she jumped backwards as fast as she could, saving her the grim perspective of having her head removed from her shoulders. A great blade, probably something similar to a great sword shoot out of a well concealed nick in the wall and cut through the air in a arc. She didn't however move quickly enough to make the blade miss her entirely. It caught her right forearm, the sudden pain almost making her drop her slithering whip. The blade made a deep cut, but it wasn't anything life-threatening nor was it impossible to heal.

Keeping an eye on the blade trap and studying it's self-reloading mechanism she reached with her good hand to her injured one and chanted a short, pleading prayer to Lolth. In a matter of seconds the gash in her arm healed up, a layer of fresh, ebony skin in its place. Satisfied with the effect of her manifested power she focused her attention on the trap. She wasn't stupid, although she did fell right into that one, and she was determined to overcome this slight obstacle in the form of a deadly trap. She wasn't about to let herself be stopped by something as insignificant as this. First of all: her enemy most likely didn't get himself injured by this contraption. She knew him too well, especially his soft spot for those thousands of years old ruins of a shitty empire of surfacedwellers. He could find almost all of these traps only by reading writings on the walls. He must have found a way to bypass this trap she concluded. And then, when she was thinking, looking at the slot in the wall with the blade her eyes caught site of slight movement. It wasn't anything significant, a slight movement of the rocks some forty feet from her position, probably caused by a rat fleeing from her. She however knew better than that. She focused on a series of complicated gestures looking intently in the meantime at a faraway spot down the hall, muttering secret formulas under her breath.

Suddenly, to her great satisfaction white, cold flames erupted in the place she was pointing at. White, cold flames in the shape of a human being. Or to be more precise: a crawling drow male.

"You never cease to amaze me, Zak." The priestess laughed out, watching with mirth as the flames began to move like a surprised, frantic man. "Each time I begin to think that you forgot how to behave like a drow you do something that any female in Menzoberranzan would be proud of. Sometimes I really wonder if you actually aren't a woman trapped in a man's skin."

"Cut the crap, Tris." The voice of the not-so-invisible man reached her ears. You could easily sense his irritation in his words. He currently was getting back on his feet having crossed the danger area of the trap. "I really don't have time to stay and chat with you, especially when I could use it to get away from you. You could answer me one thing though: aren't you bored yet? Really, how long can you chase after one lowly male that rejected a insidious goddess sending her own followers to fight one another?"

"You just answered that yourself, blasphemer." Tris hissed out accompanied by her whip. In the meantime she reached under her leather armor and pulled out a pendant attached to a mithral chain, depicting a black widow with a head of a drow female lowering herself from a cobweb –the holy, or rather unholy symbol of the Spider Queen. "As Lolth teaches us: thou shall convert or kill any drow that defies his Queen. And sadly, chances that you'll see the error of your ways are close to none." She looked on his fiery silhouette for a moment and then added: "Really, it's nothing personal, Zak." After that she smiled wickedly. "I'll miss our little stalking contest." And before he had time to react she lifted her unholy symbol and with a loud crash and bright flash something materialized near him. As he looked Zak could make out amidst clouds stinking with sulfur a giant spider, easily twice as big as he was.

"You never get bored, do you?" Zak resignedly asked, not expecting an answer as he reached with his right hand in the place where the handle of his katana should be. Although he still was invisible, excluding the white flames marking his silhouette of course, reaching for his favorite weapon and unsheathing it wasn't any problem for him. As he did that, he murmured a word of command under his breath, concentrating on his blade. Within second real, red-hot flames erupted from the steel of his sword, engulfing it and heating to ridiculous proportions. Then, not waiting for the spider to make his move he struck it with a two-handed slash, digging deep into the flesh of one of his eight legs, slicing trough chitin and flesh with ease and setting its short hair on fire.

He was a experienced swordsman, maybe not a master of the blade but all in all his abilities were impressive. Especially when it came to fighting with Dragons Tongue, his trusty weapon of choice. He sliced with his katana like a madman, fluently changing his grip from a two- to a one-handed and so changing styles before his opponent was able to get accustomed to one. The infernal beast before him hadn't had the slightest chance. It attacked desperately with its many legs, trying to knock down or catch this glowing figure with its fiery sting, to no avail. When the creature, despite its rather limited intellect decided that a attack from a distance was a more suitable approach, especially firing its web, it realized, that it didn't have enough room to do that. Besides, that frightening glow attacked with an ever rising fury, cutting of one of its thick legs and opening a way to its hairy body. The beast tried to save itself with its poisonous bite, but it was a little bit to late do that. While opening its mandibles in an desperate attempt to strike a poisonous bite its multifaceted eyes weren't able to pick out a fire blade coming straight for its cephalothorax. The deadly weapon was thrust into its mouth and pierced trough something, that could be described as the brain of the beast, effectively ending its existence in the material plane and sending it back to the Abyss from which it came from. With a loud bang and in a deep black cloud the infernal creature disappeared, leaving no traces of its existence except for some yellowy-green blood on the floor.

Zak didn't have time to celebrate his victory. As soon as he was able to banish the summoned spider, courtesy of Tris, he saw from the corner of his eye some movement. The crazed priestess was crawling under the madly swinging blade, just like he was a moment earlier. But that wasn't the alarming part, she was only half way through. The really frightening thing was what she was holding in her hand, and that was a drowish crossbow. A drowish crossbow aimed straight at his head!

He let his instincts kick in. While the information about the possible threat only began to reach his brain the bolt (probably poisoned by the way) was already in the air. He didn't have time to make any decisions, only to act. As fast as he could he jumped back, inadvertently stepping in one of the puddles of spider blood with his foot and losing his balance on the slippery surface. He fell backwards, hitting his head on the floor, thankfully not hard enough to lose consciousness. He wobbly stood up, but he was rather happy with this outcome. The fall saved his life.

He wasn't going to let that happen again, that was certain. He knew that Tris wouldn't be discouraged by this little setback and as soon as she'll crawl a few feet more she'll attack again, only this time she'll aim at something easier to hit than his only-slightly-invisible head. So, knowing all this he decided to reach in his hip bag and pull out a little pouch tied with a leather strap. Loosening the strap he refreshed his memories in search for the right magical formula and as soon as he remembered it he intoned it in draconic, pulling out from the pouch a little fragment of crystalline phosphorus. Then he threw it in the place where the effective range of the trap ended and turned around, finishing his spell and running off down the corridor that he chose to be his escape route.

A blinding flash of white heat forced her to immediately shut her eyes. If she didn't do that in time, she could lose her vision from the excess of white that almost pierced trough her closed eyelids. Whatever came to being before her, it was too hot to look at with infrared vision. She quickly forced her eyes to change to the spectrum of visible light and slowly opened them, half expecting what she's going to see. And she was right.

There was a wall in front of her. A wall of fire that is. A wall made purely of red and violet flames, reaching all the way to the ceiling and so hot, that you could easily feel the heat standing a good twenty feet from it. The firewall obscured her way as well as her vision –you couldn't see the other side trough the fire and the flames, giving Zak a perfect cover and a secure barrier at the same time. That however didn't discouraged her. She knew that her opponent was counting on it to slow her down, and she didn't want to give him this satisfaction.

Once more she reached for her unholy symbol and chanted a imploring prayer to Lolth. She knew that her Queen would listen to the pleas of her faithful servant, so she let a small smile grace her lips. And, just as she expected, a sensation like no other spread through her body, filling her with confidence. Her spell worked, and if she was quick enough she'll be able to cross the wall of flames, so not waiting for anything she began to crawl as fast as she could towards it, testing her divine power for any errors. She really didn't feel like ending up inside a wall of fiery doom without any supernatural protection. Even if one of her rings did protect her from fire, it wouldn't do much if she was engulfed in flames from head to toes.

It didn't take her long to find herself on the other side of the firewall. She really did have to hand it to him though: his level of control over the Art was really impressive, even for a former member of Sorcere. Her protective spell had almost completely discharged while she was passing through the flames, and the fact that the heat sensations were directed her way didn't help either. If she would have stayed there even a second longer her cloak (not to mention her hair) would be caught on fire. But she didn't have time to ponder possibilities that did not happen. She had a man to kill.

Zak was no fool. He perfectly knew that his firewall wouldn't stop Tris for long, even with the power he used to create it. He could easily make the flames burn for more than two minutes and if he so chose he could make them permanent with little to no effort. Then again what good would that do him? She had power over magic at a scale that at least made her capable of putting the flames down, not to mention passing through them. So instead he chose to carry on with his escape down the hallway. He did find some more traps, especially dart and arrow traps hidden in the walls, but with his keen senses and knowledge about the ancient language of the Illefarn people they weren't more of a nuisance than human distrust: true, they were annoying, even potentially dangerous, but they weren't impossible to overcome. Sadly, they were a onetime deal with no reloading mechanism in contrast to human bigotry.

Having a few moments and a nice lead over his stubborn countrywoman (blessed may be the maker of these shoes!) Zak let his mind wander for a while. He left Menzoberranzan sixteen years ago and spent fifteen of them on the surface, gaining knowledge and magical power. He did get over the fact that he lost his noble capability of levitation a long time ago, replacing it with a series of spells. Finally he lived free, following the teachings of the Moon Maiden, cutting himself from his evil confreres. And so only Tris did followed him throughout the years, her and the distrust of surfacedwellers of course. That however began to slowly recede and annoy him less, especially thanks to the stories of Drizzt Do'Urden from Icewind Dale, the hero of the battle of Mithral Hall that began to be more popular among the people of the Sword Coast. Oh, how he would like to meet this drow, a spiritual brother that managed to get recognized by the people of the surface. How would he like to exchange only a few words with him, say in his face that his story was one of the most important factors that let the vision of abandoning the ways of his kinsmen take hold in his mind. That if it wasn't for him, he would still be stuck down there, living a life that he didn't want to live.

Remembering Tris he steered his thoughts towards her. The eldest daughter of the Matron Mother of house Yasliesril, a very talented priestess of Lolth and, what's really uncommon among the upper classes and priestesses (but not so much from the famed Lolth's Silence) a capable adept of the fine art of mystical magic. And to his chagrin the woman that was sent by the high priestesses to kill him. He remembered her from Sorcere. She was the only female, the only priestess in training that regularly visited the tower and demanded teaching from the local masters. He remembered clearly that in the beginning Master No Face hurriedly taught her some easy tricks just so he could get her off his back. Well, that was a long time ago, he was still a child back then, just like she was, and the only thing that he was allowed to do in the tower was sweeping the floors, not to mention that he didn't even know a single word in draconic (which was like second nature for him now). Besides, if Drizzt was still in Menzoberranzan and No Face was still breathing it really was a long time ago. Oh well, that wasn't the point anyway.

He remembered that one day he had an opportunity to observe Tris while she was practicing a simple spell in one of the abandoned rooms in the tower. If his memory served him right he had to clean that room, but when he found that it was occupied by a young priestess he postponed his decision in favor of satisfying his curiosity. He had to hand it to her: for someone so young she really was clever, especially considering, that she was more used to divine magic than its mystical counterpart.

The spell she was learning was Mages Hand. He remembered how she stubbornly tried to lift a candle standing on top of a desk in front of her. She pointed on it with her finger, repeating the command word on and on, to no avail. While she was doing this he stood silently, slowly sweeping the floor and watching her. Back then he suspected that he wouldn't have any more success than she had. Then, when he decided that he should leave this room and give the girl (they were only twelve back then) some space so she could practice in peace something happened. Her voice, op until now speaking in draconic echoed in their native language, and it was directed at him.

_Flashback_

"Do you know what I'm doing wrong?" He stopped dead. He wasn't sure what she should do in a situation like this. Was there someone else here, besides him and her? No, that couldn't be right, he would notice. Still he didn't dare to move a muscle, at least until the girl decided to repeat herself. "Tell me what I'm doing wrong. I won't order you killed for talking to me."

"Err… OK." He stuttered out hesitantly and turned to face her. First thing he noticed were her eyes. She had the same lilac eyes that he had, or at least he thought that he had, he seen his reflection in this… thing… called a mirror only once. But what really hit him was that there wasn't any malice in her orbs, a thing that he grew automated to see in the eyes of every female. In its place he saw something, that he interpreted as a request of assistance from a woman, something really uncommon among dark elves. Still, he put these ponderings aside, focusing on the problem at hand. He warily approached her, eying the scrolls that were resting beside her. There was a dozen of them as he noted.

"So, you know what's the problem I'm having?" He heard her asking him again, so he looked at her almond-shaped eyes. "Why doesn't this spell work for me?"

"Well… Did you cast Read Scrolls before you began practicing with them?" Zak asked trying to make his voice sound not to arrogant, especially while facing a woman, and not to show fear in this situation he found himself in.

"Master No Face cast it for me." She answered a little surprised, looking at him curiously. "That should suffice, shouldn't it?"

"Every wizard needs to cast it for himself." Zak replied a little calmer. "Master No Face must have forgotten about that, he's known for making mistakes like that. I believe that you know this spell, right? You can't begin to learn any spells before you know that one."

"Yes, but… -She replied evasively, blushing a little. "I… I didn't prepare that spell today. I… don't think I can cast it."

"And what about the fancy divine magic that you guys poses?" Zak all but forgotten about his prior nervousness, going into scholar mode. "Don't you have a similar spell that you could pray for? From what I know, and that isn't much mind you, if you don't change the spells that you are praying for the next time you get them there the same as the day prior. And you, as a priestess should have access to this magic, isn't that right?"

"Um… well, I… technically I'm not… a priestess yet." She answered slowly, weighing her every word and looking closely for any deception on his part. "I…don't have a… holy symbol, so… yeah…"

"Well… that's a problem." Zak momentarily lost his enthusiasm, partially because the girl was watching him like she suspected ill will from him. Looking anywhere but at her his eyes rested on the desk with the candle. Suddenly a thought struck him. He had the means to do something about this whole situation, and although it would cost him a personal belonging, not to mention that if he got caught he would be in deep shit, he decided that the pros outweighed the cons. So, looking back at her he began, a little tremble in his voice. "One of the masters sometimes leaves some scrolls in this desk. With a little bit of luck, there should be a scroll of Read Magic in there. From what I know the spell is fairly simple, so the scroll should be scribed in a way that makes it easy to read and cast without magical means. I could look in there if you want, but you have to promise that you won't tell anybody."

"Deal, just… look in there already." She barked out impatiently. Zak hearing this got to work: he reached to his pocket and pulled out a slightly crumpled scroll that he managed to steal from one of the classrooms. Now that he tough about it, he had another one hidden in his room, so he could use up this one with no fear. It safely rested with all the other magical equipment that he was able to sneak out. He wasn't the only one doing something like this, so the risk of him being couth was minimal. Returning to reality: he straightened the parchment while nearing the desk, cleared his throat a little and read its content out loud, all the while gripping the handle of the drawer with his other hand. As soon as he proclaimed the last word, surprised that he managed to pronounce everything like he should have he heard a click, just like someone would put a key in the lock and turned it. The only thing that was left was to pull the drawer open, which he did with absolutely no resistance.

"It went better than expected." Zak said under his breath. Remembering that he wasn't alone he quickly rummaged through the content of the drawer and found something interesting. There were two scrolls, and both of them contained the same spell. Read Magic. Smiling contently he pulled them out and closed the drawer, hoping that whichever master used this desk wouldn't notice the lack of two scrolls or the fact that the drawer was open. Turning to his partner in crime he handed her one of the scrolls. "Here, now you shouldn't have any problems with these scrolls. You need only to cast this spell and you should be able to understand everything."

"Not so fast!" She halted him before he could make a run for it –a habit that he acquired while living in the tower. "I want you to show me how to cast this spell first. If you'll do alright I may even give you one of these scrolls, besides the one you'll use up for the demonstration of course. So, deal?"

She didn't even had to wait for an answer. If Zak could somehow speed up his studies, learn a new spell there was no force in the Abyss that could stop him. After a quick shout of "Deal!" he grabbed one of the scrolls lying in the pile beside her and straightened it. Using his free hand to do the same with the second scroll, this time containing Read Magic he read aloud its content, casting the spell from it. He felt a weird tic in both of his eyes, a sure sign that the spell worked. Loosing no time he got down with the other scroll.

In a moment's notice the confusing runes of the draconic language shifted in his eyes, gaining meaning, sense and clarity, enabling him to comprehend the scrolls content with ease. Repeating it in his mind a few times to gain confidence he decided to try it. Doing everything according to the instructions he pointed in the direction of the candle with his free hand, after which he spoke the command word loudly and as clearly as his tongue let him pronounce words of the dragons language. Zak felt that magic gathered in his hand, flowing through the base of his forearm and exiting from the tip of his outstretched finger; he felt his will beginning to outstretch from his body, reaching out in a incredible sensation (for a inexperienced wizard of course) to the object that he was pointing. In only a split second his magic reached the lighted candle and a delicate movement of his hand caused the light source to react accordingly.

The candle, and the whole candlestick for that matter rose slowly, as if held by and invisible hand. Seeing this Tris let out a small gasp and stared in silent fascination at the floating object. Zak in turn decided to test how far his control over the candle extended by moving it in large, fluid circles above their heads. Over time he began to make more complicated maneuvers with it, experimenting with rising and falling, with making sharp turns and changing direction midflight and even with slight tilting it. He found out to his immense enjoyment that he had total control over the candle: it fulfilled his mental orders to the letter with a unreal level of accuracy. To put it simply: he was more than pleased. This spell wasn't even slightly hard to him, in fact it was simple as pie. And that was the moment that he remembered he wasn't alone. He was playing around with a spell in the presence of a young priestess to be so it was only natural to expect a rather unpleasant reaction on her part, especially if she felt that she was outclassed by a male. Quickly he landed the candle on the same desk that that it started from and waited.

When he didn't hear any malicious comments from her Zak felt a little surprised. Was she preparing something worse than a verbal assault? His surprise changed into pure bewilderment however when he realized that she was actually applauding him.

"Impressive, very impressive." Tris prized him loudly and, as Zak guessed, sincerely. "What you did with that candle was way better than what master No Face showed. And that thing that you did with that drawer… You must be a really good student."

"No, I just sweep the floors around here…" Zak answered hesitantly, feeling a sensation on his cheeks, quite different from the one accompanying casting spells. If only he could see his face, or at least his heat signature… "Those few tricks… I just… I mean nobody did…"

"You mean to tell me that you learned that on your own?" Tris asked with raised eyebrows. "Well, let me rephrase that then. You're not a good student… You're a great student! Really, if you're so good on your own than imagine how good can you get with proper instructions!"

"Maybe we should get a move on with the spell a cast?" Zak suggested embarrassed. That was the first time in his life that a woman, even if she was the same age as he was actually prized him for something. He really didn't expect something like that, especially from a priestess to be.

"Oh, right! The spell!" Tris instantly changed the subject, focusing on the scrolls resting beside her. "I have a few questions. Is it really important that you carefully point your finger on the object you want to move? And do you need to concentrate the whole time on the object or can you just let it float by itself for awhile?"

The next few minutes were filled with Tris's questions about every little detail of the spell and Zak's answers to them. He did feel like hours went by while he explained everything, not minutes, but to his surprise he didn't regret them nor did he feared the possible consequences of it. His companion was a surprisingly good listener, devoid of the impatience commonly shown by most drow women. He didn't even notice when their conversation slipped from Mages Hand on to new topics, such as the daily life in Arach-Tinilith and Sorcere. It quickly became clear that they both had identical opinions about a couple of masters, particularly about the horribly deformed master No Face. They both seen him as a eccentric moron asking to be murdered by one of the remaining masters. They both liked however that magical cat he possessed, that black panther that he kept calling Guenhwyvar. Years later Zak found out that after the death of her former master she found herself in the hands of non ether than Drizzt Do'Urden, which made him even more amazing in his eyes.

Eventually the both of them realized, that they were losing time talking while Tris was supposed to train in the use of the spell and Zak should be cleaning one of the classrooms. Thinking fast Zak decided that it was in their best interest if he got lost so to say. He really didn't want to be caught by some local wizard or a priestess that came to collect Tris while talking to her, especially that he should be sweeping the corridors. Zak let his –dare he say that –friend know about that, and she greeted this piece of information with surprising understanding. She promised to keep her mouth shut about his involvement and gave him one of her scrolls, just as she promised him. Before he ran off however she halted him for just a moment longer.

"You know, I should be thanking you for the help and I don't even know your name. Could you share it with me?"

"I'm Zak'Talqosee, Zak for short. The First Son of the twenty-sixth family, Vicloth." He said with a exaggerated bow. She replied with a small giggle.

"Tristonein Yasliesril, nineteenth family, First Daughter. You can call me Tris. So… fare thee well, Zak. I hope that we'll meet again."

_Flashback end_

Almost a hundred years have passed, a hundred long, tough years. Their families progressed in the social standings of their hometown, up to the point that they were a part of the ruling council of Menzoberranzan. They used the fall of some of the noble families, such as Do'Urden, Obladora and DeVir as much as they used the political perturbations of Lolth's Silence, and their clever usage of the rise of the self-appointed Valsharess south-west of their hometown got them in a place of power. As expected only one house managed to stay in the same position in the ruling council, and that house was house Beanre. For centuries they were the supreme force in their little slice of the Underdark and they managed to retain that place even in the face of such weird incidents as the treason of the princess of the family. Nonetheless reaching respectively the seventh (Vicloth) and third (Yasliesril) position in the council was a feat in itself.

He didn't know what happened to that girl he met that fateful day in Sorcere tower. When he looked at Tris now he didn't see anything familiar in her. Zak suspected, that the teachings in Arach-Tinilith changed her, brainwashed her, killed everything that didn't fit a typical drow woman, not to mention priestess of the Demonic Spider Queen. Compassion, mercy, all that needed to disappear, along with her original personality. Now only one thing remained: hate. Hate to men, hate to the surfacedwellers, hate to himself, hate to the worshippers of Eilistraee. He practically felt her killing intent each time they met. And even now, after countless attempts at ending his life he couldn't bring himself to do one thing. He couldn't kill her himself.

He knew magic capable of doing her great harm, potentially even killing her without mush effort. He could do that whenever he wanted to. The thing is, each time he looked her in her eyes, in that psychedelic shade of lilac he saw this young bright girl, asking him for help in learning a simple magic trick. He really wouldn't have had any problems if she died by some sort of a trap or if someone decided to do it for him, but when it came to fighting her… He just couldn't make himself do it.

"One day I'm going to die because of that memory." He said under his breath while he hurriedly went down the dark corridor. "I bet that she doesn't even remember that, and even if she did, she would probably used that against me by now… Why can't I just kill her and be done with it?"

That was a question that he hadn't had an answer to. To be perfectly honest he didn't expect anyone to have an answer to that, not even his closest friend, his familiar –a crow named Kelell. Basically: if he couldn't figure it out on his own, no one could do it for him.

Suddenly a sound that was not the echo of his footsteps resonated behind him. He didn't know, and to tell the truth didn't want to know what it was that tailed him, but whatever it was, he suspected it wasn't exactly friendly. He had a long tradition of cases like this: it could be a monster that lived and here decided that he was a suitable snack or maybe a group of adventurers that in a first reaction to seeing a drow decided to kill him and strip him of his magical equipment… Worst case scenario it was Tris again, but she couldn't possibly catch up to him by now, especially after he gained such a nice lead. Well, at least he thought it wasn't possible…

"Thanks for cleaning up the way for me, male!" A half crazed voice rang out behind him. If it wasn't for the fact that Zak actually suspected something like this he would stumble where he stood and looked behind himself with bewilderment. _"How did she catch up to me so fast?"_ "Thanks to your clumsy attempts at bypassing the traps I had a relatively clear path, so I managed to gain some speed, especially considering that I poses a few scrolls and potions of Haste."

"_Wall, that explains that."_ Zak thought bitterly, trying to gain some more speed. Unfortunately he was already running as fast as he could with his boots on. Besides, there was the case of his invisibility spell. If she could see him, that must have meant that the spell that he recasted after fighting the infernal spider wore off somehow. Although… He looked at his hands. Not surprisingly he couldn't see them, nor could he "see" the heat signatures of them, and that meant only one thing. _"Truesight, of course. I forgotten that she could do that"_ In that case there was no sense in pretending that he wasn't there.

"A Truesight spell. Very clever, Tris." He shouted over his shoulder not slowing down and definitely not turning around. "I don't even want t know how you managed to get the eye ointment, but that's unimportant. You won't catch me!"

"Even if you run into a wall face first?" Tris asked with fake innocence. That of course sent a shiver down his spine. Thanks to the Truesight spell she was able to pierce the darkness of the corridor much farther than he could and see anything that was before him. That in question meant that she really saw a wall or a dead end in front of him, judging by the mirth in her voice. She didn't however know as much as he did about the architecture of illefarnian tombs. There could be a hidden passage there.

One thing was sure: Tris didn't bluff about the wall. After a few seconds he too managed to spot a seemingly bare wall, ending the corridor in a dead end. What picked Zak's interest was the fact that there seemed to be a light source near it: two pale-blue crystals on the opposite sides of the corridor, dimly illuminating the site. If it wasn't the situation Zak found himself in he would recognize them as etheric lampions, magical objects protecting places from evil spirits. Unfortunately he hadn't had time to think about that, thanks to Tris. He also didn't have time to read through the carved writings on the walls, which was a real shame. If he did that, he would rather face Tris than take even a step nearer to the wall. He hadn't had a choice sadly, he needed to get on the other side of the wall, away from this raging lunatic of a woman. He knew out of experience that she would torture him if he let himself be caught.

If his intuition served him right the hidden door were situated in the central part of the wall, and knowing the first rule of every dungeon: "hidden doors are usually opened by a lever placed somewhere else" he quickly came to a conclusion. One of the crystals must unlock the passage. Losing no time he quickly ran to the one on the left and pulled with all his strength.

The crystal didn't even budge. The only thing that happened was that it ceased to emit it's pale blue light. Frustrated with his failure Zak quickly jumped to the other side and did the same with the second crystal. The reaction was the same: only the light went off. This was not good. Was he really in a dead end? He prepared his katana for the upcoming fight. And that was when He felt it.

A wave of overwhelming power washed over his entire body, piercing trough every inch of his flesh and almost knocking him on his knees. Never before had he felt something even remotely close to this. It was as if a unbelievably powerful magical power was condensed in a really small place and then suddenly found its way out in a unbelievably strong, magical burst, scattering in every direction. He even heard a surprised gasp from Tris when she felt the same thing as he did. Whatever it was, it was unimaginably powerful. And it apparently came from behind his back.

Disregarding his common sense, screaming at him not to do it he looked behind him, ignoring a slightly confused Tris standing a couple of feet from him. What he saw was a site that was currently something much more preferred than a fight with a priestess. On the centre of the wall, just like he expected a single door, normally hidden, stood slightly ajar, leading to another chamber, maybe a continuation of the corridor. He didn't even mind the fact, that there was light coming from there, probably from some kind of torch (or rather torches). If by going through this passage he could get away from Tris he definitely was going to do it.

He hurriedly entered the newfound room, changing his sight from infrared to the normally visible light spectrum. Zak found himself in a chamber, that looked like it was a mix between a throne room and a mage's workshop. The walls of this hundred feet wide room were littered with desktops covered with occult scribing and alchemical equipment alike. There were also bookshelves filled with ancient-looking tomes. It wasn't maybe a library on the scale of the one in Sorcere, or any of the libraries in Silverymoon for that matter, but it still was really impressive, especially considering Illefarn's achievements in the field of magic. The chamber was divided in two by a colonnade consisting of columns carved from grey marble standing some thirty feet from one another, creating a inner hall leading to the feet of a pedestal with a stone throne. On that throne however Zak found something that he haven't seen before in his life.

When the drow ventured deeper into the chamber he was able to recognize what he was looking at. On top of the throne, on a weird looking shelf mounted in the place where the neck should have been was a skull. It wasn't however a normal skull. Disregarding the fact that it was still connected to its jaw (not to mention the neck region of the spine) it was strangely ornamented. There were five large, droplet-shaped gems, each colored differently from the other mounted in its forehead, circling a large ruby, the sixth gem. The eyeholes of this skull were also filled with great precious stones, this time with green emeralds. Even the teeth were replaced by shiny rocks: diamonds sparkled in the dim light of the eternal torches, each cut in the shape of a corresponding tooth it replaced. Basically speaking the site was incredible, if not terribly confusing.

Zak was considered a expert in the field of archeology, especially in ancient Illefarn. He was even able to publish tree books up to date, each of them covering a different aspect of the life of these ancient people. Under his pen name, The Collector of Silverymoon was able to expand the knowledge about this specific region to a whole new level. But in all of his research he hadn't even heard about this method of decorating the corpses of the dead, be it a old Illefarn ritual or a "new fashion trend" of these people. If it wasn't for a insane drow priestess hot on his heels he would spend as much time studying this new discovery as he would consider necessary. He would… wait a moment… oh fuck, Tris!

"Got you now, og'elend _(traitor)_." He hear her whisper huskily in to his ear. One of her rapiers was pressed into his back. "This time you don't have anywhere to run."

"Could you do it already? I'm tired of your constant droning." Zak interrupted her, his voice irritated. "Just stick your blade in my back and be done with it, ligrr _(girl)._"

"Oh, but I don't want to do that!" Tris replied with mirth. "Not until I get some fu…" Suddenly she stopped, frozen in place and only breathing in a quickened, frightened pace. If it was a normal situation Zak would be a little surprised but would nonetheless capitalize on that and try to escape… Problem is, this wasn't a normal situation at all. He too was petrified, incapable of moving any part of his body except his eyes.

"_What in the Nine Hells is going on?"_ Zak growled out in his mind, trying with all his might to move, even if a little bit. _"A paralyzing spell? But how? Except me and Tris there's nobody here! What the fuck is going on?"_ And in that exact moment something hit him. He looked intensively at the skull on the throne resting only a couple of feet from them and he understood. _"Elghinyrr'fearn!"_

"No, darkskins, not a lich." A voice speaking in common spoke to them. It had a strange, antique-sounding accent and was coming from everywhere in the same time, echoing in the chamber and gaining volume to an almost diabolical level. "A demilich."

In that moment the dark elf and probably for the first time since she got there his companion/would-be killer noticed something, that chilled them to the bone. The skull that up until now rested on the throne raised in the air, slowly coming closer to them. The gems set in its eyeholes shone with a disturbing, evil way that sent chills even down Tris's spine. The vile thing must have sensed that because it roared with laughter for no apparent reason, so loudly, that it managed to knock a thin layer of dust from the ceiling. Only then did the two drow notice a bone hand floating beside the skull.

"Are my soul gems so frightening to you?" The skull abruptly ended its demonic cackle and asked, closing its distance to them and stopping some five feet from them. "Or maybe you're afraid that you'll end like this? I won't lie, I hadn't had a chance to properly eat in more than a couple of thousands of years, so your souls are a bit tempting. But alas, I am… I _were _a man of his word and I always repaid my debts to anyone that helped me. So, the souls of my liberators are safe from my huger, for now." He laughed some more, backing himself a bit from his unwilling saviors.

"To think that the elves and dwarves of Illefarn managed to trap me in this gods forgotten tomb. That they forced me to watch how dust covered my ambitions…" Zak blinked a few times (or at least he would do that if his eyelids would respond) hearing this. Was this skull talking to them or to himself? "I have to give it to them though: their blockade was strong. Not that it mattered to me, I still could summon some demons and other infernal creatures and hear the news from the wide world from them." Yes, he definitely began "the monologue". What is it with evil beings and their speeches that no one cared about? "I know about the births and deaths of gods. I know about the fall of the puny civilization that managed to imprison me here. I know even about the happenings in that funny little village called Neverwinter and, to be honest: I'm really happy about the fall of the Guardian. One cursed relict of this blasted empire less."

The skull fell silent for a moment, flying around its "guests" and gazing at them with its sickly-green emerald eyes. But even now Zak was more irritated than he was scared, not by much but nonetheless. Was it really so important to the "oh-so-powerful-beings-of-mass-boredom" to share their life history with their soon-to-be victims? Why can't they just shove their blade or whatever in their heart and end it? Come to think of it, why didn't Tris do tha… Oh, no, wait, stupid question. Tris was probably going to use him as her personal sex toy before she sliced his throat. Well, that way he would be killed doing something remotely fun, not bored half to death by a dead man missing most of his body parts. Speaking of which…

"I was called Khrel-Ithyr, the Bone Lord. They called me the Avatar of Death. They took me for a messenger of the gods of death, Jergal incarnated." _"Do I look like I care?"_ Zak thought angrily trying to break the spell he was under, sadly with no success. "I'll say it right now: if I could I would dispose of the fool that Kelemvor is. Myrkul was much closer to my liking… a shame, really, that his corpse is now home for Githyanki." Suddenly his bony hand reached for Tris and stroked her cheek in a semi-affectionate way, to the grate displeasure of said drow. Even without skin and flesh on his face you could tell that this whole Khrel-Ithyr guy was smiling in a unnerving way.

"Ah, my young, feisty Ilythiiri _(drow)_. Do you really think that you could command me? That you could bend my will like if I'd been a lousy ghoul? I don't think so…" The so called Bone Lord once more turned his back against them, if you considered the small fragment of his spine a back, and raised his hand in the air. Purple sparks shot out of the tips of his knuckles. "Rise, my brothers! We have been freed! Once more we can step out of the walls of this accursed tomb! Rise, my brothers!"

A few parts of the walls that weren't obstructed by anything began to slide under the floor, inside carefully masked slits that happened to be the future thresholds of five hidden doorways. As soon as they stopped, creating a passage in a manner carefully planned by thy makers of this tomb the two captured drows were able to peer inside, seeing rooms filled with darkness. They were however able to make out at least three thin, bony figures, each of them nearing the light of the everlasting torches. Finally they were able to distinguish what they were, and to be honest –it didn't look too well.

Liches. Even more bony mages, covered in leathery remains of their skins and fine, magical clothing, untouched by the passage of years. There were more of them than Zak and Tris expected, five if they weren't mistaken, and that was more than they thought they could handle, even if they had the freedom of movements on their side. Incapable of fleeing or fighting they were forced to look at the dreadful assembly of long dead wizards, animated by the powers of dark magic.

As they looked at the horrific site before their eyes they noticed, that each of the more-complete-then-their-leader liches were representing one of the dominant races of Faerûn. There was a human lich, the highest of the five, wearing proudly a golden diadem incrusted with diamonds on his bare forehead. Next to him stood a smaller and more fragile-looking undead, probably an elf in its lifetime, gazing at them with his blood red seeing stones in place of his eyes. A little bit further from them a stout, square-skulled living corpse of a dwarf glared, his massive, tick-boned arms crossed on his barrel-like chest. Behind them all two childlike skeletal beings stalked their way through, probably a halfling and a gnome respectively. You could say that there were missing only an orc lich but then again, no one ever heard of an orc capable of learning the rituals needed to initiate the transformation into a undead mage.

"_Now that's just fan-freakin-tastic! Why does this kind of shit always happen to me?"_ Zak thought bitterly. First he gets caught by Tris only for her _and _him to be captured by a flying skull with an overgrown ambition and _now _this sorry excuse of a undead had to call in its _friends_. They could be stupid ghouls or mindless skeletons but no! It had to five liches, five more complete liches than there one-handed bandit of a leader.

The five that answered the call of "the flying skull" (as Zak dubbed him in his mind) noticed their leader right away and bowed before him, almost breaking in half during it. It was a real wonder that beings like them were even capable of such a "acrobatic" feat. Nevertheless the five undead mages quickly straightened themselves and spoke a few choice words in a language so old that possibly forgotten even by the gods themselves, after which they noticed the captured drows. They circled the paralyzed prisoners, each of them ready to cast a deferent curse on them if they tried anything funny. The only thing that stopped them from doing that right away was the look that their leader was giving them while slowly floating in the air and observing his liberators. Finally he stopped in front of Zak's face and flashed his emerald eyes at him.

"Like I said, I was a man of his word. I will not eat your souls, nor will I kill you, and believe me, I could with just a flick of my hand." Khrel-Ithyr said slowly, his bony hand playing with a strand of Zak's silvery-white hair, sending shills down his spine. "If it wasn't for you I would be still trapped in this puny dungeon. It doesn't mean however that I'll let you go freely, no sir! There is a thing, a spell to be exact, that I've been working on for the past millennia and I didn't have the chance to test it. And guess what: you two are going to be my test subjects! Do not worry, this spell won't kill you." He assured them, bur a strange glimmer in his emerald eyes gave it off. "But it will shorten your lives!" He added with a laugh and reached with his only existing hand to the right. A wand suddenly materialized in his bony knuckles and with a flick of his nonexistent wrist he pointed it at them. Then, using a word of command in a language that only his companions knew he cast a spell. A bright, scarlet ray shot out of it, hitting them both at the same time.

Zak didn't have a slightest clue what exactly happened, and neither had Tris. When the magical ray connected with their bodies they felt a strange sensation around their hearts that began to spread out trough their flesh, and then, in a bright flash and a cloud of dust everything stopped. A mere moment later the dust cloud subsided and there were able to see clearly. In the first moment they didn't had any idea what was this all about. They didn't feel any different and they definitely didn't feel any pain. So what happened? Well, if they really needed an indicator of the strangeness of all this than the fact that everything seemed a bit larger than they remembered was as good as the next best thing.

"_A shrinking spell? And a flawed one at that? What's going on?" _Zak was thinking hard, especially concerning that he wasn't able to look at his body properly. But if he could do that… well, let's just say that he wouldn't be too happy about the… changes, that's a good enough word.

"Strange." Khrel-Ithyr murmured under his breath floating away from his two test subjects and looking at them with an interested glimmer in his gem eyes. "Physical changes like I wanted them to be, but the age isn't right. And a strange mix of racial traits… hmm… Well, at least the aging rate seams right. But why did my spell worked in a way so far from what I desired? I worked on this formula for the past five hundred years. Any ideas?" His companions only shook their heads in consternation. The five liches spent the last millennia trapped with this demilich and they knew him better than any mortal could ever hope to, but they didn't see him up until now failing any of his spells and, to be quite frank, they didn't know what to do. Thing like this just didn't happen god damn it! Khrel-Ithyr however didn't seemed to be too interested in answering his own question and began to orbit the two drows like a grotesque moon, thinking about his next move.

"I must say, my Ilythiiri friends, you managed to surprise me. You managed to shake off, even if only partially, a spell of really epic proportions. You have my respect. It's really a shame that it'll won't do you any good." He chuckled a bit but managed to calm himself. "You, how do you put it, outlived your usefulness for me. I would let you go, but where would be the fun in that? I think I'll send you somewhere whit a spell, just let me think… hmm… I hear that Cania is beautiful this part of the year. Freezing cold it is, capable of changing white dragons into icicles. Don't worry, I just jest. I wouldn't send you two to the depths of the Nine Hells. That would be too simple. Oh, I got it! Yes, this'll do great! Another Material Plane, one that doesn't have to many portals to this world. Now you two just relax and stand still. This won't hurt… worse than having your eyes ripped out of course."

And then they both disappeared, just like that, before the two of them had any chance to do anything, not that they could considering that they were still petrified. But even then, while they ceased to exist in their world they still felt, and the things they did register were far more than the feeling of having your eyes ripped from your skull. Everything began to push against them from every direction and in the same time their bodies were stretched like a piece of rubber. Every inch of their bodies hurt like hundreds of thousands of icy needles were piercing their flesh and began to burn underweight their skin. They suffered unimaginable pain in every square inch of their frames, even their hair, normally a senseless mass hurt like the most fragile part of their bodies.

They drifted like that for what they felt been hours upon hours, floating in a abyss darker than the darkness of the Underdark, feeling crushed by it. No one could stand something like that. Even the insane priestesses of Loviatar weren't capable of dealing such pain. Finally their brains did the only thing that prevented them from losing their minds. They both lost concusses while speeding through the endless planes of the Shadow Realm, crossing the barriers of Material Planes faster than time itself. And then, as suddenly as this all started the stopped, hitting with a great slam against the walls of a place, than none of their kind has seen before.

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><p><strong>* Drowish for "Well, this is bad"<strong>


	2. Ilythiiri? Rivvil? Tuth?

**Hey, I'm back! (Leaps for the nearest cover to avoid rotten vegetables) Listen, I know it took me way too long to update! No need to remind me! I'm sorry! (Looks out cautiously from cover) Sigh… I knew this would happen.**

**OK now, having the crowd of righteously furious people waiting for an update calmed down I welcome you to the second installment of "****Natha keeshe lu' natha khaliizi". Yes, it's been a while since I posted the first chapter, and no, I won't go on and on about why I didn't update earlier. All you have to know –real life.**

**Now the first order of business: the reviews! Seriously, when I posted the first chap I thought that if I get one review it would be a real success. But four? And not single one flame at that? Holy Mother of Christmas, it really got me all pumped up! ****Thank you guys!**

**Also considering **_**Sharnoresian Empire's**_** review… Sorry, didn't get to read it. It possibly has to do with the fact that I rarely read fics with a female Harry. If I ever do read it however, I'll be sure to leave a comment. And sorry I replied like this, I'm still fairly new to managing an actual account here and I'm not quite sure how to go with replies to reviews.**

**Now, having the pleasantries out of the way I think I should warn you about this chap. If you like an iconic Potions Master from HP, I suggest that you take some chill pills before reading this. By no means am I going to make this story a bashing one (at least I'll try to), and it will not be anything to sever, but that being said Snape will not have a good time during this chapter. You have been warned.**

**Also there will be parts of this chapter that will not make any sense what so ever. If you see something like that… know, that it was meant to be that way. It's just my take on the concept of how the common language should sound, considering that Dungeons&Dragons games are played all around the world and every player uses his native language as the common speech. There will be no translations provided, but you should get the gist of what was all that about.**

**Hope you'll find this installment satisfactory and hope to see you again.**

**Eagle White**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I do not own anything that may be remotely considered a property of anyone else. The Harry Potter series, the Forgotten Realms setting, Neverwinter Nights and Dungeons&amp;Dragons are all owned be their respective owners.<strong>

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><p><em><strong>Natha keeshe lu' natha khaliizi<strong>_

_**Chapter Two**_

_**Ilythiiri? Rivvil? Tuth?***_

When Zak finally came to he didn't know what exactly happened to him or where he was. The only thing he knew was that some sort of light was eagerly trying to pierce his eyelids, irritating his eyes. He guessed that he must have been moved from the underground, because although he didn't exactly see the light source he knew instinctively that it was sunlight. Well, that and for some reason he was lying in a comfortable bed.

As soon as the thought struck him Zak tensed. Who in their right mind would let a drow in their bed? Well, except fellow followers of Eilistraee, but if his memories served him right he still was in a part of the Savage Frontier that was outside the sphere of influence of the church of the Dark Maiden. To be honest, if Zak would ever find himself unconscious and at the mercy of humans or any other race he would've been long dead. Taking all this into account he was really beginning to feel nervous, lying here, vulnerable, on a soft bed and with a fluffy pillow under his head. Just what was going on?

Suddenly he heard voices. Having his eyes still closed he couldn't see who was speaking, but even now he could tell that this was definitely _not _a language he understood. But that was short of impossible, at least if he still was in the North. He knew over twenty languages for crying out loud! He could basically give any linguist a run for his money, especially considering that a good portion of these languages were extraplenar in nature or dead for over a thousand years. But this one… All he knew was that a few words that were uttered resembled a weird dialect of the common speech, but it didn't help him much because he didn't knew the context of them.

Zak forced his eyes open, deciding that he would rather look this new threat in the face than cover under a blanket and hope they won't pay attention to him. First thing he noticed was that everything here was white. White covers, white walls, white ceiling, even the curtains separating him from the rest of the room were white. He really must have looked awfully strange with his black skin against all this white. Just where the hell was he?

"Where ja bin?" Zak said in common before he could stop himself. _"Nice one, Zak. You're in a possibly hostile place, with no idea what these voices behind those curtains are saying and you just ask where you are?" _he scolded himself silently, hoping that whoever was on the other side weren't as hostile as he thought they were. Well, he was going to find that out in a few seconds now, someone was pushing the screen aside, letting more of the sunlight to fall on him and allowing him to see some rather interesting looking individuals.

They were human as he realized right away. He knew perfectly well how their species looked like: small, rounded ears, usually pink skin, taller than your typical drow. Although this was his first time seeing humans as tall as these. They were huge, especially the bearded old man, he must have been 7 feet tall at the very least! It really felt strange to see such a tall man, especially if he looked like he had… what was it… seventy, eighty, ninety years? Zak was no good in defining age when it came to non-elves. Let's just say that he looked _really _old and leave it at that.

The old, bearded man was flanked on both sides by two women, only a bit shorter than their companion and looking slightly younger then he was. One of them was wearing something that could be described as a robe of pure white making her blend in with her surroundings. The second one however wore a more colorful robe, ornamented with a checkered pattern that for some reason screamed "dwarvish" at him, and he couldn't quite understand why that was… Moving on, she, as well as her male compatriot wore some sort of strange pieces of glass that were attached to some frame-like objects on their noses. Zak wasn't used to seeing these… binoculars he believed they were called. He understood that they were nonmagical means of correcting eyesight flaws, not that they were too popular among the people of the North. Usually they just went to a good priest and paid for having their eyes fixed. But aside from that: was it possible that the two of them had these… glasses?

While he contemplated the possibility of two of his "captors" (as he decided to call them for now) having curiosities known as binoculars the bearded old man spoke to him. The sense of his words were lost to Zak, the language barrier proving to be too great a hindrance, but he presumed that he was speaking to him. The man with the silver (as Zak only just noticed) beard was looking intently at him, his blue eyes hidden behind half-moon spectacles twinkling strangely. He was probably asking him something, but Zak really couldn't understand him.

"Ja verstehe vy non." By the surprised look on the old man's face Zak knew that he didn't understand a word he was saying. _"Now that's just great"_ he thought. _'This guy doesn't seem to understand in common. What do I do now?"_ Zak did the only thing he could: he tried again, this time in draconic. That however had the exact same result. Growing desperate, he began to go through the same phrase over and over again, using each and every language he knew, even those that were considered dead. Unfortunately, the only thing he managed to accomplish was getting the brows of this old man to hide under his hairline. That and to completely baffle the two women accompanying him.

After a few more attempts on Zak's part one of the women, the one in the checkered robe spoke up to the bearded man, glancing at the confused drow with what he guessed was wonder. In the meantime the second one began to look for something in her robe but abruptly stopped when she heard a door opening. Curious, Zak peered through the white screen in the direction from where the sound came.

Before his eyes appeared a man dressed in black, his robe fluttering with each of his hurried steps like a cape. As Zak's keen elven (although drowish) eyes noticed at once the skin of this man had a sickly yellow, clearly unhealthy color, that he had dark, hollow eyes, greasy hair and a hooked nose. Only by looking at him for a moment you could tell that he wasn't too nice to be around. You could even go as far as to compare him to a typical, arrogant drow, if any drow would let himself look as dirty and unhealthy as this guy. You could almost _feel _his greasiness from afar. One thing was sure though: he really needed a crash course in personal hygiene.

The mysterious man sent him a brief look, his black eyes peering into his own lilac ones, and he grunted, gaining the attention of the bearded man and his glassed companion. They began talking amongst each other, the greasy one shooting him quick looks from time to time, but otherwise they ignored him completely. This was beginning to get annoying. Not only did Zak found himself in a foreign place, surrounded by people that he couldn't communicate with, but this man that apparently didn't know how to use soap was peering at him like he was some sort of animal that he wanted to put down! He had officially enough!

"Wo wy estas?! Was vil wy odo mnie?!" Zak cried out in a last ditch attempt to communicate using common, looking angrily at them and trying to will them into understanding him. Unfortunately for him, they still didn't seem to comprehend what he was saying, looking oddly at him, like he was some sort of lunatic. Besides, he really didn't expect them to understand him in the first place, all he wanted to do was them to stop ignoring him and treating him like he was some sort of retard. And to think that just minutes ago he didn't even want them to know that he was conscious.

A slight movement brought his attention to the woman in white. When Zak looked in her way he noticed that she just pulled out some sort of wand from her robe and was probably going to use whatever spell was stored inside of it on him. Annoyed, frustrated and now just plane mad that he was going to get attacked the drow Spellsword shot her a look that promised pain.

"Sevir uns'aa maglust xor F'sarn ulu elgg dos, j'nesst! _(Leave me alone or I'm going to kill you, woman!)_" He shouted, and surprisingly, the woman in question complied. Zak suspected that it had more to do with the fact that he was really scary when he wanted to (not to mention quite intimidating) than with his use of his native language. All in all, the woman took a step back from him and lowered her wand, but she never left her eyes from him.

Eh… This was getting more messed up by the minute. Waking up to all this shit really wasn't something that Zak was expecting, not to mention looking to. Complete lack of understanding breached only by a few treats was by far one of the worst situations he could find himself in. And now, after what he just did to that woman those wizards (at least he thought they were wizards, judging by the wand of one of them) were probably going to dispose of him, or at least try to. Zak Vicloth wasn't going down without a fight! Not that he wanted it, if they could just understand one another they could just… Understand! That's it! How could he have been so stupid!?

"Oi, ty!" Zak snapped, pointing at 'ol' Silverbeard'. He gestured for him to come closer while saying: "Come syuda." Surprisingly the man understood him, probably the gestures Zak guessed, and came a bit closer, looking intently at him, that weird twinkling still present in his eyes. It was really distracting. Focusing on the problem at hand Zak pondered for a bit and then began to slowly gesticulate, murmuring in common more to himself than to the old man: "Dajte mi bakku moj supot".

It took a moment and a good bit of repeating on Zak's part but the old man finally understood what he was saying and beckoned one of his companions to him. The woman that Zak shouted at took a few cautious steps, still looking at the drow warily. The bearded man said something to her to which she nodded and took of somewhere, out of Zak's site. After a few moments she came back, holding the thing that the drow Spellsword wanted to get back. His backpack. Ol' Silverbeard looked questioningly at him and seeing Zak nod eagerly handed it to him. Rather pleased with this outcome he took it from him and with a short: "Chakam pala" directed to his captors he began rummaging in it.

After a quick search Zak found what he was looking for. With a triumphant "aha" he pulled out a golden amulet, its pendant shaped like a open mouth, with some kind of inscription on its back. Hurriedly he put it around his neck, touched it and murmured a quiet "Telanth", after which he cleared his trough, letting the magic that was within the amulet take effect. Feeling a slight tingling and knowing perfectly well what that meant Zak looked at the quartet and announced:

"Well, having that out of the way, we can at least understand one another, isn't that right?"

The wizards and witches gathered in the room looked rather surprised, probably having a hard time comprehending how exactly their "guest" was able to speak their language when clearly he couldn't a few moments ago. That was kind of surprising, at least to Zak who thought that magic users should be at least aware of the existence of magic capable of granting understanding and/or the use of some foreign languages. These however looked completely flabbergasted, exchanging surprised looks and silently conversing, only to look in the end at the bearded man that was closest to the drow. Ol' Silverbeard must have guessed what his companions expected from him because, taking a example from his "guest" he cleared his throat and began:

"If I may, how is it possible that you are able to use our language just now? Only moments ago you have seemed to be incapable of comprehending any words that we said, and now it seems that you have full grasp of it. How is that possible?"

_"Yep, they have no clue about magical means of communication" _Zak was really struggling not to laugh out loud hearing this. This "wizard" apparently neglected a really useful branch of magic if he didn't even hear about this, not to mention that he must have overlooked the great boom on Amulets of Translation. Really, almost every magic user in the North had at least _heard_ of them, especially after the archeologists from the region of Port Llast uncovered the tomb of the Ancients and found a rather cheap method of making them. Neverwinter was still the leading manufacturer of these amulets on the Sword Coast. However the dark elf decided that it would be unwise to point that out to this man and decided to answer the question to the best of his abilities.

"I am able to comprehend and use your language thanks to the amulet that I have put on." He began his explanations pointing at said pendant. Again, the onlookers were amazed by his level of grasp of their language. "The dweomer of my charm was imbued with spells such as Comprehend Languages and the like and a few other spells used to consolidate the language-dependant qualities of them. In theory the dweomer should never run out, what seems to be true considering that it has been working for a couple of millennia now." At this point the eyebrows of the glassed man stopped somewhere under the ceiling, as did the eyebrows of everyone else. "Pendants like this became quite popular in the North after the end of the last war between Neverwinter and Luskan. So, having that all cleared out… am I a prisoner or a guinea pig? Having a bed and all that may indicate the latter, but one can never be too sure."

"Good Merlin, no! You are by no means a prisoner nor a test subject, although I must admit that your amulet is most exceptional." The old man replied, smiling good-naturedly. That action however brought Zak to attention. This was the first time he saw a surfacedweller acting friendly towards him in a long time. Something clearly was not right here, and unfortunately he didn't know what.

"If I'm not a captive or a guinea pig than why am I here?" The dark elf questioned, looking attentively at the old man, trying to see any deception on his part and keeping an eye out for his companions. "Why am I here, wherever 'here' is, and why do I feel like a stampede of hill giants ran over me?"

"Actually, that was my question to you, mister…"

„Vicloth. Zak'Talqosee Vicloth from the city of Menzoberranzan, not that the latter maters anyway. And I wouldn't be asking if I knew the answer." Replied Zak, but he had a nagging feeling that he forgot about something. And that whatever it was, it was important.

His words, however truthful didn't rise the unconsciously anticipated reaction in these humans. It was as if they never heard of the drow metropolis. The only thing they did was exchange a few confused glances, not even an ounce of fear or at least more respect for him. Nothing at all. As if to make matters worse, the dark haired man that reminded Zak of a really shabby looking drow in a human body looked at him as if he was accusing him of something and began saying something in a venomous, arrogant way.

"I don't know what game you think you're playing, but you're not fooling us. There is no such place as Menzoberranzen or whatever you called it. You better start telling us the truth or else I'm going to have to use means that are… less then fit for a man at my position."

"My dear Sev…" Ol' Silverbeard was probably going to reprimand his companion, but was interrupted by a incident that had transpired in the span of barely a few seconds.

As soon as Zak heard the not-so-subtle treat from the greasy man his still dazed mind was flooded by some of his less than pleasant memories: his childhood in Menzoberranzan and the beatings from his sisters and Matron Mother; his days in Sorcere, where he was a meals way from being poisoned; the day of his father's death, the one person in his family that he was able to relate to. He remembered vividly the aversion and death-wishes from the people of the surface when they found out what he was, all the hateful glares and attempts at his life. Finally, he remembered something, that was the most painful memory of them all: the death of the only person he could ever trust. And the memory of _Tris'_ treachery…

An overwhelming sense of rage began consuming him, directed at everything and everyone around him. He hated it, he hated all these threats and promises of pain, he hated (although he also grew accustomed to) the constant threat of Tris… He hated it all! Zak was beginning to feel like every fiber of his being was literally burning with anger. He shot one murderess look to the black haired man and felt that he was losing control of himself.

Suddenly the room was filled with a bright, blue-white flash and only moments later a earsplitting cry of pain shook the room. Before anyone was able to get used to the new light source a second shout, as loud and painful as the first one filled the white chamber, followed closely by the sound of a body hitting a closet. When the bright light finally subsided, Zak was the first to react. Or to be more precise his body reacted, becoming pale in a manner of seconds. He lost control and now he would have to face the consequences. And the fact that he was in foreign hands didn't help one bit.

The man that was threatening him a few moments ago was lying at the foot of the closet. Well, actually lying was a bit of a exaggeration. More like curled up in a fatal position, whimpering and clutching his smoldering right arm that smelled of burned flesh. But that wasn't the worst part. Zak knew exactly what did all this. A small fragment of the curtain was burning slowly, covered with blue-white flames of pure magic. And that could only mean one thing: he subconsciously used his gift _("more like a curse"_ he thought bitterly): Spellfire.

His eyes still hurt like all Hells from the excess of light, even though they were the source of it. Zak closed them tightly and hid them behind his hands, trying to ease the pain. But even without looking he knew that he had at least two wands pointed at him. With his luck, they were loaded with something really nasty to. So, thinking fast, he did the only thing he could in such a situation while not angering anybody further.

"Usstan joros whol dosst ka'lith…" He began only to bite himself in the tongue. With all this shit happening he reverted back to his native language. So, concentrating for a bit on his pendant he began again: "I beg for your forgiveness. The thing that I did just moments ago was the direct result of the pressure I was under for the last few days. I did not mean to attack anybody, it was but an accident."

"An accident?!" He heard the woman with the glasses ask incredulously. "You call _that _an accident?! You almost killed a grown, accomplished wizard by shooting some kind of white flames from your eyes! This… This looks more like a powerful curse, bordering Dark Arts!"

"Minerva, I do not believe that it was Dark Magic." The man with the silver beard interjected. "Trust me on this, I can tell when someone is using that particular kind of magic, and what we saw was by no means any spell of the Dark Side. It had no evil in it. To be honest: it felt like as if it was magically indifferent."

"Magically indifferent?" The woman was definitely surprised by what she heard. She shot a questioning look at the man and lowered her wand slightly. "How can something be magically indifferent? And how was this magically indifferent…_ thing_… been able to almost kill Severus? Can you explain that, Albus?"

"A direct and unconscious manipulation of single threads of the Weave, the fabric of magic itself." Zak put in helpfully, feeling that it would be best to show good will and his willingness to help. Still, he didn't look anybody in the eye, hiding them behind his hands. "It was pure, magical power, free of any interferences from magical formula of any spell… to be more precise, its destructive aspect. What shot out of my eyes was nothing more than focused anger that took the form of blue-white flames, Spellfire. I am one of the few blessed with this rare talent, although at times it is difficult to control, especially if I'm under distress… or threatened by someone."

"Manipulation of raw magical power you say?" The old man, Albus if Zak heard right, asked him. However he didn't wait for an answer, turning to the other female in the room. "How is Severus holding up, Poppy? Everything alright? You'll be able to heal him I assume?"

"That shouldn't be too much of a problem, although I never seen anything quite like this before." The woman in white replied, waving her wand over the injured man, a strange, bluish glow coming out from its end. She was attending to him for a better part of a minute now and the smoke coming from his arm, as well as the constant whimpering had ended. "On one hand, Severus' arm seems to be heavily burned, probably by the fire itself. On the other hand, there are signs similar to those leaved by Stunners, only on a larger scale and more severe. It is possible that under these burns there is a large internal bleeding and a broken bone or two. Whatever this… Spellfire… is, it's very powerful."

"Thank you for the more than satisfying answer, Poppy. Now, could you ensure that our dear Potions Master makes a full recovery? I'll deal with our guest." The old man said calmly. Hearing this his white clad companion nodded and with a quick move of the –surprisingly –same wand she was able to lift the injured man and levitate him towards one of the free beds. That was the moment that Zak chose to uncover his now bloodshot eyes. He was a bit surprised seeing what she did, but chose not to dwell too much on it. Besides, only now did he realize, that he was actually in a hospital of sorts, maybe even in some kind of temple to Ilmater. Then again something wasn't right here, for example the robe of the witch, or rather the supposed priestess of the Crying God wasn't right, and he couldn't find the holy symbol of the god of martyrs anywhere. However he hadn't had the time to dwell on it, again, because two angry eyes hidden behind rectangular glasses appeared before him, glaring a hole in him.

"Who are you?" She asked, her voice strict and to the point. Zak casually noticed, that her nostrils were trembling in a threatening manner. "And don't try to lie too us again."

"And when did I lie to you people exactly?" He asked angrily. "As I said: my name is Zak'Talqosee Vicloth and I hail from a drow metropolis called Menzoberranzan, located deep underground in the Underdark. I was once a mage in Sorcere tower until I abandoned my homeland and chose to follow the teachings of the Dark Maiden Eilistraee. What else do you want to know?"

This was becoming really irritating really fast, and although he tried not to show it, Zak was at the verge of his nerves. That's what you get for being a drow: no one believes a word you say no matter if it's the truth or not. But seriously –they didn't even hear about Underdark? That's what he noticed when he told them about it at least; they didn't have a clue about anything he said. Not to mention that the part with his goddess that he mentioned in hope of getting a helpfully better response was equally lost on their part. Their, or at least her facial expression was one of pure skepticism.

"I never heard anything about Underdark or Menzoberranzan, not to mention drow." She finally replied, only confirming his suspicions. The woman was still pointing her wand at his face. "Furthermore, you're too young to call yourself a full pledged wizard. You couldn't attend any of the known magical schools in the world, not to mention that you're barely old enough to start attending one."

"Believe me, I'm older than you _or _the old man" Zak replied, forcing himself to remain calm. That was the first time in his life that someone, especially a witch or wizard, showed such ignorance in regard of the elven kind. Even complete backwater societies or barbarian hordes knew as much about his 'relatives' as to at least be aware of the fact that elves aged slower than other races. Then again, if they knew so much about elves they would know in extension about drow and then they wouldn't be having this conversation in the first place. Who knew what they would do to him if they were aware of what his kinsmen were capable of. So, knowing that being rude would serve only to get him in more trouble he ignored their unbelieving stares.

"If you're trying to be funny I must warn you: I am not amused easily." The glassed woman deadpanned, her voice laced with coldness and her eyes drilling a hole in his head. "You seem to not comprehend the level of trouble you're in. Lying in this situation is by far the worst course of action you can take, mister… oh, very well… Vicloth."

"No, it seems that _you _don't comprehend what _I _am saying" The irritated dark elf replied, mimicking her tone of voice. "Doesn't the fact that I have almond-shaped eyes with lilac irises, silver-white hair and skin black as tar clearly point out my ancestry? Aren't my pointy ears a rather obvious sign of my heritage? From what backwater part of Faerûn are you?"

„I really don't know what is your problem, mister Vicloth" This… Minerva woman was quickly losing her patience, which was painfully obvious thanks to the slight tremble in her voice. "If you're taking me as stupid then I must strongly disappoint you. You do have silvery hair and lilac eyes, as per your description, but no black skin or pointy ears." Zak shot her a incredulous look at that. Seeing this she paused for a moment, surprised by his expression, but she quickly recovered and again leveled him with a glare. "You may not believe me in your clearly insane state, but you cannot deny facts, and I _will _show you the errors of your reasoning."

Next thing Zak knew, there was a hand mirror resting beside him on the covers. He blinked a few times, surprised. He was looking at the woman all this time and he hadn't noticed her change her wand. Was she pointing a mirror-conjuring wand at him all this time, or was there more to it? Saving questions like this for later he reached out for the mirror, wondering what was the point of all this. Was she trying to deceive him in some way? He knew exactly what his reflection was going to look like and saying otherwise while conjuring a mirror didn't make any sense to him. This just defeated the purpose of… _"Wait a moment. Why is my hand white?"_ Suddenly Zak wasn't so sure of himself. He lifted the mirror, his hand trembling slightly, and looked at his reflection.

He gazed in the eyes of the reflection that was his and wasn't at the same time. His face, littered with scars normally hidden under a small illusion looked unusually alien to him. Zak had eyes bigger than he remembered, hair longer than he was used to and skin… _His skin wasn't black! _It had a pink hue to it, slowly changing to chalk-white with the exodus of blood from his cheeks. His skin was human-looking. It was more at place on face of a Northling than a thin, scared face of a drow. A drow child as he suddenly realized. He must have been a ten, maybe eleven-year old for some reason. Well, that at least explained why these humans looked so damn tall. They really weren't, just he was smaller and… Were that human ears that he had now? Sweet Eilistraee, they were human!

"How… how can this be?!" Zak cried out fearfully, touching one of his ears with his free hand, trying to decide if this was some kind of weird illusion or not. Unfortunately, it wasn't. "This is my face, but… the skin, the ears… especially the ears… What vile sorcery is this?! I am not a human! I can't be a human! I am a Ilythiiri! I am a drow gods damn it! I can't be a human!"

While Zak was freaking out his captors were exchanging odd looks. They were, or at least the glassed woman was thinking to this point that he was only playing with them, not realizing what possible consequences he may face. Now however they realized that he believed every word he said, however strange they may be, and was absolutely terrified by what he saw in the mirror. All things considered, this just went from normal strange to 'what the bloody hell' kind of strange. In the meantime Zak went through a identity crisis.

"I am drow! I am not human! I can't be human, I lived more than a century for crying out loud! How is this even possible!? I am Zak'Talqosee Vicloth from Menzoberranzan, First Son of the Seventh House! Former master of Sorcere tower! I am a dark elf! I am not human! Not… human…"

Suddenly Zak fell silent, his mind racing. A wave of fresh memories that he thought of as a 'vital detail he couldn't quite place' just minutes ago began flooding him. He remembered encountering a flying scull that called itself a demilich, probably some kind of ancient mage trapped in his undead life for centuries. He and Tris got captured by it and then it cast some sort of experimental shrinking spell on them. Finding the results unsatisfactory for his taste he decided to cast them into another plane of existence trough a portal he created. Only thing is, the spell that he cast on them wasn't a shrinking spell to begin with. It must have changed at least him into a human child, no older than twelve at that. And if his instinct was telling him the truth (and it usually did) this particular curse wasn't as easy to overcome as by a simple transmutation. Probably even a Whish or a Miracle wasn't capable of it, if the part about that spell being a 'epic in proportion piece of magic' was true. And that meant one thing: he was stuck in a human's body for good, having only one hundred years of life left at the most. That, and the fact that he lost his _fucking pointy elven ears! _All things considered, his mind did the only logical thing that it could in a situation like this.

It shot down and Zak fainted.

* * *

><p>Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, better known as just Albus Dumbledore prided himself as being a man that seen and lived through many a strange event. With more than a century worth of experience he had seen things that most people wouldn't believe were possible. He fought in a war (or wars for that matter), did research on many arcane subjects and met people of exceptional capabilities. Most of them turned dark on one point of their life or another, but that wasn't the matter that he wanted nor needed to ponder right now. What did require his full attention at the moment was the now unconscious boy that was lying in one of the beds of the hospital wing of his school.<p>

For all his knowledge Dumbledore couldn't understand what exactly happened two days ago, when he first saw this young man. He was just taking a stroll, heading in the direction of the school's kitchens for a glass of hot chocolate and a little chat with the House Elves working there when he saw something completely unexpected. A strange, disk-like object appeared in the middle of the corridor he was going at the time, clearly form out of nowhere. It was in itself a strange thing to behold: a swirling mass of pure darkness, darker then the darkest void, floating between a wall and the door to the women's restroom. Fascinated by the sight the aged wizard was even more surprised when the mysterious disc began to emit a low humming noise. Cautiously he approached it, having his wand at the ready, meaning to take a closer look. However before he even was able to take three steps something really disturbing happened.

A body flew out of the dark void, hitting the floor with a thud. Well, to be more precise the said body was shot out of the strange disc, hitting the floor a good fifteen feet from where it had originated and slid on the smooth flooring for another five. Shocked Dumbledore actually froze for a moment. He knew for a fact that mysterious floating discs of darkness shooting bodies wasn't a good sign. Then again, said floating matter of impenetrable shadows just disappeared after it had 'emptied' itself, dispersing in a few seconds and becoming nothing more than your average shadow cast by a wall. The only sign that something even was there was the body that was lying upon the marble parquetry.

At first Dumbledore thought that the strange body was nothing more than a corpse. The white hair and pale complexion clearly stated that: a body of someone old, probably nearing his nineties. For some reason however that wasn't the case. When the aged wizard took a closer look he not only became aware that the body belonged to a child, although with a strange hair color, but also that the child was _breathing_. Surprised by this discovery he completely forgot about his chocolate and did the only thing he could and should do. With a flick of his wand he levitated the boy and brought him to the hospital wing and in the capable hands of his long time friend: Poppy Pomfrey.

Madame Pomfrey, a woman in her late sixties, probably seventies (no one was sure of her exact age; it was a rather sore subject to her and it would be rude to actually ask any woman _that _question) was one of the only people who had any power over Dumbledore. As the school nurse and resident healer she had complete authority in her domain and could outrule any of the headmaster's requests if she seen it as a potential risk to the health of her charges. Acting upon that little portion of power she had she promptly took care of the unconscious boy, asking only a few questions like "where did he come from" and "how did he get here" and then shooed the headmaster out, claiming that he would only get in the way. Knowing that she was probably right Dumbledore left the hospital ward and went back to his office, his mind already searching for answers.

A swirl of shadows coughing up a unconscious boy in the middle of the school was something that he, for once, failed to comprehend. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes he wouldn't believe something like that could happen. Out of all the possibilities of fast travel available to the common magical folk only one could possibly pierce the protective wards of Hogwarts and that were Portkyes. Then again, not many people were able to properly cast the Portus charm, and this rather thin boy that he found surely wasn't one of them. He basically could cross out the use of Floo Powder too, the kid didn't appear in any fireplace. And it was really doubtful if he had a phoenix familiar like he had, so yeah… Dumbledore was at a seemingly dead end.

Turning his attention away from the thoughts of exactly how this boy was able to get to Hogwarts the headmaster turned his gaze to one of the items that the young man was carrying. It initially struck him as odd, seeing a boy no older than eleven with a sword strapped to his belt, but having more immediate problems he didn't think too much about it, however he did take it off of him before entering Madam Pomfrey's realm. Now, having more time to properly adjust to this new and surprising situation the aged wizard took the strange blade into consideration and began to cautiously examine the exotic looking weapon.

Dumbledore was by no means an expert when it came to weapons, especially blades and the like. But even he, an absolute laic could guess that it was a weapon from the far east, probably China or Japan. A slightly curved steel blade, crafted that way to maximize the cutting properties was extremely sharp. Too sharp. The headmaster had a hard time comprehending how a weapon that was probably made by muggles could have such quality. And the symbols on the blade itself, they seemed almost as if they were… runic…

Suddenly it struck him. Ancient runes from what he remembered were an old form of _storing _magic in inanimate objects. They were carved on many items, such as shields, armors and swords but also teacups, wardrobes or even houses and castles and their purpose was to give the said object permanent magical powers. If he was correct in assuming that this sword was actually magical, it could at least tell him if the boy had any magic in him. How else would a child get in the possession of a magical item otherwise. Concentrating his magical powers in his wand he waved it over the deadly piece of metal, chanting a short magical formula. Only a second later he actually dropped his wand, his face one of pure shock.

Dumbledore maybe wasn't an expert in magical weapons, but he did know a fair bit about enchanting. He vividly remembered a certain treaty written by none other than Merlin himself about his research of the half-legendary Excalibur. That one treaty was considered the ground works for later magical objects creations and it was in this work that a scale of magical power stored in a single item was first introduced. The 'Merlinian Magical Scale' consisted of seven levels of magical properties, with a 0-level considered a 'completely mundane, nonmagical item'. It was said that the sixth, highest level was the level of Excalibur itself, and that it was basically impossible to achieve anything more powerful, not without shattering the said object. This sword however… If Dumbledore had to guess, it was basically _more magical than the most powerful sword in history of mankind_. It was probably more magical than half of his more powerfully enchanted possessions _combined_.

While this shocking tidbit of information confirmed Dumbledore's suspicions about the boy being someone with knowledge about the existence of magic it raised more questions than it gave answers. From where did this child had a sword so powerful? Why did this child even had a weapon with himself? Was he sent here for some reason? Was he a victim of a strong curse that somehow transported him into the castle? Or was he sent here on some mysterious, insidious in its nature quest, tasked with the assassination of him or someone of his staff? Some of the followers of Lord Voldemort were still free, and knowing the devotion of some of them, it wouldn't be that far-fetched. Then again, why was the child unconscious after it appeared in the castle? It didn't make any sense.

The next day Dumbledore decided to make a visit in the Hospital Wing and inquire about their mysterious guest. However before he even left his office a House Elf popped in to existence. It was one of the Hogwarts Elves as he noted by its 'attire', one of them that was sometimes used as a messenger for those of the staff that didn't have any other means of sending important information quickly. As the headmaster noted, the elf was seriously distressed and before he even was able to ask what was the matter he (at least the voice of this elf was male-sounding) squeaked out a urgent request of his presence in the Hospital Wing. Fearing the worst, Dumbledore quickly grabbed the elf by his hand and ordered it to take him there as fast as possible.

Half a second later Dumbledore was already surveying the chamber, looking for any signs of hostile activity. Nothing seemed to be out of place, and after only a few moments Madam Pomfrey appeared, her face displaying concern. The headmaster inquired what was the emergency, that she needed to send a frantic elf for him to which she replied that it was about their guest and that he better take a look at him for himself. Slightly confused Dumbledore did just that and after being escorted to the bed that he was occupying he peered through the screen at him.

First thing he noticed was that the boy seemed to be still unconscious. His eyes were closed and his face peaceful. Only then did he notice that actually the face he was looking at seemed different in some way. After further inspection he knew why that was.

The child was scarred. The child was scarred more than most of the veterans of the last war with Voldemort, only his old friend Alastor Moody could compete and win with him. The left side of his triangular, long face had a vertical scar, running from his forehead to the middle of his cheek, right through his eye. It looked like it even touched his eye, probably rendering it useless, although Poppy assured him that both of his eyes looked to be working properly. Then there were claw-like marks running diagonally from the upper left part of his face to his lower right chin, the middle one scraping his upper lip somewhat. Then there were bite marks on the left side of his neck, looking like some kind of predator, probably a wolf or something similar bit it. The rest of his body was covered with a hospital gown, courtesy of Madam Pomfrey, but as Poppy put it: "He looks like he went through hell and back at least three times." Hell, he even missed a part of his ring finger in his left hand!

With each passing minute all of this seemed to become more and more confusing. Especially after Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape found out about the kid. As they too were spending the summer break in the castle, at least for the time being, considering Hogwarts had just began to send its letters, it wasn't a surprise that they've found out about all of this and decided to see what was exactly going on. Knowing that his coworkers were 'in the loop' so to say Dumbledore began brainstorming with them, trying to figure out what exactly was going on. And then, after a day (and night) of intense debate, on the second day of his stay their guest awoke. And that brought them to the present.

It was even more confusing than Dumbledore was willing to show. A child that didn't know a word in English, but knew over a dozen of other strange languages that he himself didn't even heard of. A child that after putting on a strange amulet was capable of using almost perfect English, although a bit artificial sounding. A child capable of using raw magical power, capable of almost killing an experienced wizard like Severus. A child that referred to himself as an adult, an adult older than most of the people present in the room. A kid that referred to himself as a 'Drow' or 'Ilythiiri', whatever that was. Then again, the term 'Dark Elf' did ring a bell, but he couldn't quite place it.

Suddenly, the silence that befell the Hospital Ward was pierced by Minerva McGonagall's shaky voice.

"What did he mean, Albus?" She asked, clearly confused and a little bit scared. The display of 'Zak's' shock really made an impression on her. "What could this boy mean, saying that he was a 'dark elf'? Was it some kind of act?"

"I seriously doubt that, Minerva." Dumbledore replied slowly, thinking about what he was about to say. "I took the liberty of checking if the lad was lying or bluffing, but I couldn't find anything. He clearly believed in what he was saying. Then again, he does have a really strange mind, I do not think that I have ever encountered something similar before. It's almost as if he doesn't _need _to sleep to actually process his memories. It even looks like the state he is right now, unconsciousness I mean, is something highly unnatural to him."

McGonagall looked surprised at that. It was common knowledge that a human being needed to sleep in order for their brain to function properly. For someone to not need sleep was like for someone to not need to breathe; it was not normal. Still, she refused to believe that this kid was something more than a slightly odd child that miraculously appeared inside the school. However…

"So your saying that this… boy… believes to be older than me and to be a 'drow', whatever that is?" The transfiguration professor asked and after receiving a nod she furrowed her brows. "This doesn't make any sense. What is this whole 'drow' thing anyway?"

"I am not quite sure myself, Minerva." Dumbledore replied stroking his long, slivery beard in contemplation. "The word 'drow' dose seem to be familiar in some way to the word 'trow', but…"

"'Trow' is a obscure form of the word 'troll', is it not?" Madam Pomfrey asked from where she was working, applying a orange salve to the injured arm of one Severus Snape. "From what I remember from when I went to school 'trow' were considered to be the same as the common mountain trolls."

"Precisely Poppy, precisely." Dumbledore nodded to the school nurse. "They are one and the same, and as such thinking that our guest is a 'trow' is as silly as believing in the 'baneful properties of the Grim' if I may say so myself. He doesn't look like he has even a drop of troll blood in his veins."

"So the boy's delusional?" McGonagall asked, eying the unconscious form of Zak.

"No, I don't think so." Replied Dumbledore shaking his head slowly. "There still is the second thing he called himself. A dark elf… hmm…"

"With all due respect, do you really think that this… _kid_… may be related to house elves?" Asked Snape, his voice finally its former greasy self after the resident school healer patched his arm up. You could not miss the venom in his voice however, especially when he regarded the white haired figure laying in the bed.

"No, no; I was thinking more in the lines of the old Norse legends." The headmaster responded, not at all surprised at hearing the way his employee regarded this mysterious young man. "If my memory serves me right, the old Norse wizards had tales of an evil race they called 'Svartalf'. They said that the 'Svartalfs' or 'Dark Elves' lived deep underground in massive caverns and that they rarely appeared on the surface of the world. However when they did appear they brought death and destruction to anyone and anything they encountered. It was said that they retreated to their caves only when a true hero showed up and managed to defeat them."

"Don't take me wrong, Albus, but you can't be serious." McGonagall interrupted him, glancing between the unconscious form of Zak and the injured arm of her colleague. "All the renown wizards agree, that only a handful of theories and creatures described in the legends about 'Asgard' exist in reality. Really, do you believe in High Elves that are as tall as a human and even more intelligent and magically powerful than we are? Or in intelligent gnomes that actually mine gemstones? Their all myths, as well as Valkyries or worgs. Only people like Xenophilius Lovegood can actually believe in such rubbish."

"Well, in that case it seems that people like our dear Xenophilius may actually be right, in this regard at least." Dumbledore replied happily, his eyes twinkling and pointedly ignoring the stares he received from his coworkers. "If this young man really is a Svartalf from Norse legends, than we're dealing with the potentially strangest and most unexpected discovery of this century, easily competing with the disappearance of Voldemort." As the old headmaster expected, everybody besides him flinched when he spoke the name of the self-proclaimed Dark Lord. After a moment that he gave his companions to pull themselves together he was about to continue, but Severus decided to add his two knuts.

"With due respect but I seriously doubt that this _boy _could be anything more than a distraught child with unstable magical powers. If I was to suggest something, I would send him to St. Mungo's for a mental checkup and restricting of his magical powers."

"Let's be reasonable Severus." Dumbledore tried to calm his subordinate. He easily noticed the odd (in one case even hostile) looks that the female occupants of this room were sending his Potions Master after his little declaration. "Why should we do such a thing? On what ground? If it's about your arm than we shouldn't be too harsh on him. Most wizards his age aren't capable of controlling their powers, not to mention emotions. Besides, you did try to intimidate him, and if he felt threatened by you, he could have attacked you in self defense out of pure instinct. And in the odd case of him telling the truth: do we have the right to decide the fate of a representative of a intelligent magical race? Do we really want to answer why we sent one of their kin on a derogatory checkup and then permanently turned him into a squib? If what he tells us about a whole metropolis of dark elves is true, then a incident like this could easily spell war."

"That may be, but only if the _boy _really is a 'Dark Elf' as he claims." Replied Snape, glaring a hole in the scarred face of their unconscious guest. "We don't have any evidence that could confirm his words. For all we know, it could be an act, and this kid may be under the Imperius Curse sent by some fanatical follower of the Dark Lord that avoided arrest. He could've easily been sent here to try and kill you, headmaster, or me for that matter."

"I seriously doubt that, Severus." This time it was McGonagall who decided to defend the unconscious whitehead. "He didn't behave like someone under any jinx, let alone the most powerful mind-controlling spell. He would probably try to attack his target the moment he saw it and he wouldn't try to explain himself, nor be so helpful afterwards."

"If you could call his lies helpful." The dark haired man muttered under his breath so that only he and by complete chance Dumbledore were able to hear that. Deciding that this could go on and on the aged wizard decided to end these speculations in the most direct way possible.

"You know… there _is _a way to find out if our young guest is telling us the truth." Dumbledore began and looked at Madam Pomfrey with a bright smile. "Poppy, would you be so kind as to cast some detailed diagnostics spells on him? We would like to know if his physiology is in any way, shape or form different from the normal human anatomy."

Madam Pomfrey looked taken aback by this request. It wasn't every day that she had to cast such spells, especially while she was tending to injured or otherwise disabled children in this school. Well, she did cast diagnostic spells all the time, but they worked in a different way than what Dumbledore asked of her. Basically: they only looked for physical injuries, not differences in the way the patient's body was built. Nonetheless, she knew how to cast a spell that was meant to do just that.

"Not a problem, Albus." She replied after a short moment and approached the bed with their guest. However she did raise an eyebrow at her employer. "You do know that this could be basically proof for his accusation of being a 'guinea pig', right?"

"I know, and I do believe that in this circumstances this shouldn't be a problem. All we want to check is if he's a normal human child or something else."

"We could just use a small dose of Veritaserum, I believe I have a vial or two of it in my storage." The Potions Master said coldly, his gaze still fixed on the young boy lying in the bed.

"How can you even speak about something like that, Severus!" Madam Pomfrey proclaimed outraged. "Forcing something like than into a child?! Do you even know what Veritaserum could do to a body so young?!" While she was scolding the younger man she waved her wand over the head of the unconscious whitehead, a ray of pale blue light emanating from its tip. "The boy could go mad, he could become nothing more than a… Merlin's Beard!" Suddenly she stopped her scolding, her face frozen in shock. Her eyes, now big as dinner plates were fixed on the place where her wand was actually pointed at: at Zak's head.

"What's the matter, Poppy?" Minerva asked worriedly, she and her two companions looking at the medwitch with concern. Seeing them looking at her expectantly she got a grip of herself and answered, though her voice was a bit shaky:

"It's… it's about the boys brain."

"Has something happened to him? Is he alright?" This time it was Dumbledore that asked, his voice growing concerned.

"No… Nothing of that sort I don't think." Poppy replied, though the look in her eyes betrayed her astonishment. "It's just… different."

"Different?" Snape repeated suspiciously, rising from the bed he was sitting on and nearing the fallen form of one Zak Vicloth. You couldn't tell it by looking at him, but he was beginning to panic, his theory about the boy lying starting to fall apart. "In what way? Define different."

"It's hard to say, it's just different." Madam Pomfrey replied, trying desperately to find words to describe what she had just found out, and only by a quick skan of the brain nonetheless. "The number of his synapses is astounding, as well as the length of them. I would even let my wand be snapped if it meant having some of them myself…" She noticed the rather surprised stares of her companions, so she decided that a explanation was in order. "The boy must have lightning fast thought processes. I wouldn't be surprised if he could think faster than a speeding bludger. If he has something like this in his spinal cord, he's reflexes too must be almost absurdly fast. Now, let's see… My God! This… this must be some kind of mistake!"

"What is it?" This time it was Minerva's turn to ask, after all, she was very much intrigued by what she heard op until now. "More strange changes in the boy's mind?"

"No, not quite. Although… I'm not exactly sure myself." With every passing moment Madam Pomfrey was becoming more and more confused by what her diagnostic spell was showing her. "I checked his brain activity… you know, try to find out how much of his brain he could actively use. Well, the average for a human, wizard and muggle alike, is about eight to twelve percent, with the odd cases of people being able to use up to fifteen percent. Our guest however…" She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "He's capable of actively using over twenty six percent of his brain capability, with fluctuations reaching almost thirty percent. And it's like he's doing it almost constantly, like it's something natural for him."

Now Dumbledore knew why the aged nurse was so surprised by her findings. One thing was certain: the boy was beginning to be more and more of a puzzle for him. If he remembered correctly, the few study's on the subject of Merlin himself showed, that he was able to use about fifteen, maybe sixteen percent of his brain capacity, but this young man was beating him by more than ten percent without even trying! This was ridiculous! Well… it would be, if the aged wizard didn't already think that this youngster could really be a Svartalf. However, he was the only one thinking that right now, his companions still mulling about his absurdly potent brain.

"This must be some kind of mistake." Snape decided, his cold eyes fixed on the unconscious boy. "No one ever was capable of using such a large part of their brain."

"That may be, but I'm sure that my spell works properly and the readings are correct." Poppy replied, still a bit shaken. "It's just unbelievable."

"Yes, I know." The transfigurations professor agreed, nodding slowly. "If memory serves me correctly, that much brainpower could theoretically lead to subconscious telepathic powers, even a untrained form of Legilimency and Occlumency on a level close to yours, Albus, or of You-Know-Who's. And if he was trained in them… I don't think that I would like to know how deep in my memories he could get."

Shocked silence filled the hospital wing after that declaration. Dumbledore pretty much knew about that theory, he even was certain that the boy did use some primitive but effective form of the art of Occlumency while he was trying to delve deeper into his mind, but the rest, and by that I mean Severus Snape and Poppy Pomfrey were… well… floored. The headmaster however was getting more and more certain, that the youngster indeed was a member of a legendary race. He _did _have a strange way of thinking, something close to alien for the aged wizard, and now, seeing that he was able to subconsciously deflect a mental intrusion he was getting more and more certain of that.

While Dumbledore was contemplating the possibilities of the boy being more than he looked, Severus Snape was getting furious. A mere child, a child that attacked him and was able to hurt him was beginning to shape up into a biological wonder, if not really a 'dark elf' as he called himself. That however meant, that the Potions Master was wrong all along, and that was a slap to his ego. How dare the kid make fun of him like that! And even if he was wrong, so what?! The thing attacked him! Why didn't they see him for what he really was: a threat!? Why did they need someone so dangerous and unstable for!?

Oblivious to Severus' fuming Poppy went on with her diagnosis and, what was becoming a habit of hers, cried out in surprise. Guessing that by doing that she got the attention of her companions she delved into another explanation.

"I checked the parts of the brain responsible for his senses. The smell, taste and touch parts are basically the same, although I think that he has quite a good sense of taste, but… Well, the part responsible for hearing and sight are a bit unusual. The area responsible for his hearing is almost thirty percent larger than average, and the one responsible for sight is more than twice as big as it should be. It could be that he has a sort of a eye problem and his brain compensates for it somehow, but just to be sure…" She pointed the tip of her wand over Zak's closed eyelids and waited a moment for the information to be processed. When it did however she all but shouted in surprise at what she found. "His eyes! It's… it's incredible! There's a thin membrane inside of his eyeballs and… and small muscles inside of them used to move the membrane! And alongside his photosensitive cells… Galloping Gargoyles! Thermosensitive cells! This kid can _see_ warmth! This is unbelievable!"

Now that was something unexpected. The three magic users in the room that weren't actively examining the boy exchanged surprised looks. Infravision was something, that was considered more of a curiosity found in snakes than something found in any sentient species. None of the known humanoid-like creatures in the magical world was capable of seeing warmth, even goblins, that were considered subterranean creatures weren't able to see in the dark using something like this. This boy however proved that it was not the case and a intelligent being can in fact see in the darkness and have eyes as strange and incredible as he had.

The three magic users fell silent, each of them thinking along the same lines: what on earth was this kid? In the meantime the school healer proceeded with her examination. Having found out everything that was to be found 'in his head' so to speak, she then began checking the rest of his body. There wasn't too many surprises down there, at least at first. His digestive and respiratory systems were more or less normal, although they seemed to be healthier than normal. His spinal cord also wasn't a great surprised, as Poppy predicted he had pretty long synapses giving him reflex unparalleled by any other. It almost seemed like he was able to react to things _before _he seen them. There was however one last thing that did surprise her greatly, to the point of her having to share her findings with her colleagues.

"The boy's muscles seem to be stronger than that of a typical eleven-year." She stated, amazement in her voice. "There almost as strong as those of a physical-working muggle adult. If my spell's reading this correctly he should be able to lift… over 200 pounds? But how? It's at least seven times his weight! And to top it all it doesn't even seem to fit with his bone structure! It's like his muscles are too strong for his bones. It's almost unthinkable that he's able to move about and not harm himself. And his immune system…" She trailed off, her face scrunched in concentration. Finally, after a moment or two she took a step back, surprise once more present on her face. "I never seen anything quite like this. His immune system is, well, unbelievable. I doubt that he would catch a cold even if he spent a night in the local mountains, in the middle of winter and only wearing his underwear. He's short of immune to most common and magical illnesses."

"That's… incredible, Poppy." Dumbledore announced after a moment, trying not to look too shocked himself and doing a poor job at it. He did however look less surprised than his companions to be sure, but that was only because he began to rise a Occlumency shield as a form of calming his emotions. He was about to say something more, but the school nurse beat him to the punch.

"There's one more thing you should know about our guest. It seems like his body has one, major in a way, flaw. His skin and hair doesn't seem to have too much melanin in itself, hence his white hair. It's almost like his an albino, however that's not the case. From what I gathered his skin isn't capable of synthesizing melanin because his body can't produce enough tyrosinase, which in turn is caused by scarcity of tyrosine. His body can produce it in small doses, but it's insufficient for him. I did however found some sort of gland in the vicinity of his pancreas that, if I'm not mistaken, produces a sort of a enzyme that helps obtain tyrosine from a specific type of food. If what the spell tells me is true, he _needs _to eat mushrooms or the meat of animals that eat them in large doses. If not… well, his skin could become vulnerable to light to the point that you could say that he has a severe case of porphyria. But, apart from that, he's not only as healthy as a hippogriff but also a walking biological wonder."

"Well… thank you, Poppy, for your help." Dumbledore nodded at the medwitch in thanks and began to ponder on all the information he just gathered. They indeed were dealing with a being that could be called more perfect than a human, wizard or muggle alike. A couple of those discoveries could even be attributed to the legendary dark elves, but the question was: is this boy really one of them? And if he really was a Svartalf was that a sign, that his people were gearing up for a new bloody expedition on the surface world? If the legend's of the Nordic wizards were to be taken seriously, appearance of the 'dark ones' always foreshadowed times of great troubles'.

Then again, there was no telling how accurate these legends were. There were many gaps in their beliefs. For starters: no legend ever mentioned that dark elves sent their own children as spies. There was no mention of a underground city as well. They didn't even had any details as to possible beliefs of the dark ones. From what he gathered, Zak did try to tell them about a Eilistraee or something like that, a Dark Maiden of sorts. He hadn't heard about anything like that god-like entity in any of the old legends, and to be frank, he always pictured the Svartalf as a ruthless race with no belief apart from mindless slaughter. But alas, these questions could wait until their guest has regained consciousness, which so happens wasn't that long from now.

* * *

><p>Once again Zak felt, that his eyelids were assaulted by bright light. This time however he wasn't going to open them up just like that. Not like the last time that he blacked out he remembered everything. He knew that he was in some kind of pseudo-sanatorium where people didn't know what a drow was and that he was probably found by these people when he was transported by a insane lich-skull thing that called itself Khrel-Ithyr, a skull with a inferiority complex the size of Waterdeep. And if it wasn't bad enough, this bony bastard transformed him into a human. Him, a hundred and twenty one years old drow, a master of the arcane arts that flirted death more times than he was willing to count and who had to constantly wrangle with a insane priestess of Lolth named Tris. He might just have been robbed of more than five hundred years of life, sent Eilistraee knows where and stuck in a child's body for apparently good. Yep, it was the first of the ten-day already.<p>

Zak wasn't going down without a fight however. If he really was going to stay here in a kid's body he would be damned if he didn't try to get back his old form. That and he needed to find a way back 'home', if you could call a world where you were an eyesore that way. And the sad part in all of this: he could already tell that the local wizards were of no help. After only a moment of talking with them he already deducted, that they hardly even understood the mechanics of the Weave, if it even existed on this strange plane. Then again, if it didn't exist here then how was he capable of creating that flame in the first place? Maybe they had a different source of magic, separate from the will of Mystra? Something like the Shadow Weave per chance? Well, he could ponder on that _after _he regained his body.

Once again he heard the voices of these local wizards and found them once more incomprehensible. Cursing silently he focused once more on his amulet and inaudibly whispered the word of command. After half a second the millennia old charm sprung to life again, allowing its master to understand what was said around him. He really was glad that he bought this little piece of magic, worth every piece of gold he paid for it at that black market in Luskan.

If his now human ears (Hells, he missed his old ones already) weren't deceiving him, Zak could make out the sound of the voice of that woman in glasses that conjured the small mirror he was still clutching in his hand. She was saying something about a body that contradicted almost everything they knew about the biology of a human being. Then the voice of that lady in white replied, that she was as much surprised as she was, but she was sure of her diagnosis. Then a third voice, this time belonging to 'ol' Silverbeard' butted in, saying something about proving the theory about… something his amulet wasn't able to translate on the fly, some 'Svartalf' thing… saying all that in this irritably cheerful manner. Really, this guy was beginning to annoy Zak with his cheerful deman…

'Dark Elf'. Svartalf means 'dark elf'. Zak's amulet was able to translate the foreign word only after awhile, but it was accurate enough. And explained a lot too. These guys did have elves and knew about them, and they didn't believe him only because he was currently looking like a rivvil child. Maybe now, after all this pointless arguments they would finally listen him out.

"I thought that I wasn't a guinea pig. Now I find out that to be a lie. _Someone did_ some tests on me and didn't bother to ask me for permission." Zak spoke up with a deadpan, drawing the attention of the occupants of the room. He didn't however open his eyes, dreading what he would see should he open them. Being aware that he now looked like them, like humans, with their pink skin and small, rounded ears… gods, was that thought annoying… fuelled his belief, that he actually could attack them again with his Spellfire just because he was that upset. Not that he could mind you, he was spent at the moment and it would take at least a few spells and a heavy dose of meditation to replenish his reserves, but they didn't need to know that.

After the four in the room heard his voice they looked at him surprised. It was clear that they didn't expect him to regain consciousness that fast. However, when the initial shock wore off and the sense of Zak's words sunk in the slimy bastard a.k.a. Severus Snape and the two female occupants shot a glance towards Dumbledore, who smiled pleasantly at Zak, completely unfazed. Out of all of them only he noticed, that their guest was trying to stay as calm as he could, given the circumstances of course.

"I'm curious though, what _did_ you find out regarding my body? From what I gather it must be something big, concerning that just a moment ago I was referred to as a 'contradiction to everything that is known about human biology'". Zak continued, his eyes still closed and trying to sound as composed as possible. _"Stay calm, think happy thoughts… as happy as they can be being turned into a human child… fuck, I'm going to pulverize the bony bastard when I get my hands on him!"_

"Well, Mr. Vicloth, you are right in assuming that we found some astonishing things about your physiology." Dumbledore replied calmly, judging the reaction of their guest. He didn't seem to surprised, although a slight frown appeared on his face for a split second. Deciding that the best course of action would be summarizing their findings from just a moment ago, the headmaster began listing the derogations in his body compared with a human's.

Zak may have appeared almost uninterested in what the old man was saying, but the truth of the matter was he was just as surprised by what he heard as was Madam Pomfrey when she found out about it. Not only had his body stayed mostly drow, at least when it came to his internal organs, his eyes and his high brain functions (let's face it, he knew perfectly well that he was much brighter than most of his 'peers' in Sorcere), but he found out just how much of a gap there was between humans and elves, especially dark elves. Well, some of his abilities were augmented by use of magic, some of them even permanently, but still. Living as one of them was beginning to look more and more annoying by the second.

Oh, and one more thing: _why _didn't Khrel-Ithyr remove that annoying racial flaw concerning his dependence on mushrooms?

"So, Khrel-Ithyr's curse changed my into a human child but didn't interfere with anything else?" Zak pondered quietly, finally opening his eyes and sitting up. "But I'll be damned to the Nine Hells if that's all it did. I'm more than certain that he did something more. He wouldn't call it an 'epic piece of magical arts' if it only was a cosmetic change." All this he said under his breath, muttering in his own native language, knowing full well that these people couldn't understand him even if they tried.

Suddenly Zak froze, his mind playing the whole scene with the damned skull right before his eyes. One part of it was especially interesting though. The part with the shortened lifespan…

"You!" Zak pointed at the white clad woman, earning a surprised yelp from her. "This is very important: did you check how fast I age? In what rate do I age?"

"And what exactly does _that _have to do with anything?" Snape growled out from his place by Dumbledore's side, subconsciously rubbing his injured arm. "I think that the fact that _you_" he spat the word like it left a unpleasant taste in his mouth "have the most outlandish organism in all of Great Britain is sufficient enough."

"The Great what now?" Zak asked out of pure reflex but quickly he shook his head and once more focused on the medwitch. "How fast do I age? This is very important."

"Well" She began a little awkward, considering the question was a bit odd and the now identified potential Svartalf was gazing at her with his mesmerizing lilac eyes intently. "I did not found anything out of the ordinary during my scans concerning that aspect of your body, Mr. Vicloth. From what I gathered you age accordingly to normal standards, not faster." She added with a smile. This smile turned however to a concerned frown when she noticed that Zak looked absolutely crushed by this tidbit of information.

"I should have guest as much." He said with a hollow voice, than looked at his lap. For a moment he didn't do much of anything, but after just a few seconds he hurled the hand held mirror that he was still holding at the nearest wall, shattering it into pieces.

"Fucking pile of bones!" He cried out furiously. This was just great. A useless pile of incomplete bones just had to rob him of most of his life. Only he could find himself in such a predicament, he and his rotten luck. "Next time I see him, I'm going to grind the fucker to a pile of fine powder and piss in it!"

Anger, no, pure rage radiated of Zak in such quantities that he could put even a wounded nesting dragon to shame. Although he didn't do much besides hurling that mirror and shouting angrily almost no one was to keen to get close to him, a type of primal sense of dread filling anyone that was stupid enough to come closer to him. That however didn't stop Minerva McGonagall from scolding a seemingly young teen using such foul language in front of adults.

"Watch your words young man!" The transfiguration professor all but growled out trough pursed lips in a way that would give nightmares to any normal student of hers. "Using such foul language in general, not to mention in front of adults such as us are completely…"

"Shut it snot!" Zak glared at her in such a way, that the 'older' woman stopped in her tracks, a feeling of dread creeping down her spine. "I already told you once: I am not a child! I'm older that you can hope to ever be! I'm fucking one hundred and twenty one for fuck's sake! And the fact that I look like a child of your race doesn't mean that I have the mental capabilities of one too. If that goddamn elghliik _(skull)_ hadn't cast its fucking curse on me I wouldn't even look like your shitty, cock-sucking race, not to mention I wouldn't even be here in the first place. So be as kind as to _keep your plowing face shut while talking about my age!_"

That was certainly a first for the aged teacher. Not once in her over fifty year long experience was she so thoroughly trash talked by someone as young looking as Zak was. This left her utterly shocked, not to mention speechless. It was like he believed every word he said, and concerning that they did found out that he wasn't exactly human left McGonagall even more floored. He really _was _as old as he claimed.

The rest of the school staff present during Zak's little outburst was equally surprised by his tantrum, to the point even, that they couldn't for the love of god tell what was going on. One moment they have a boy that seemingly doesn't know any English, the next he's one step from biting off the head of one of them. Not to mention that between these two milestones he went through a mental breakdown and a moment of silent contemplation. Snape believed now more than ever that the 'boy' was actually cuckoo and therefore dangerous. Dumbledore looked like he was desperately forcing his mind into high gear to find a method of calming their distraught guest down. After a moment of contemplation he decided to speak up, seeing that Zak took a break in his rant to take a much needed breath.

"Now there, Mr. Vicloth, there's no need to be so rude. Were all a little bit surprised, and in your case terrified I'm sure, but shouting won't get us anywhere. Maybe I can interest you in a lemon drop?" All this he said in his patented grandfatherly voice, keeping an eye on the white haired youth at all times in case he decided to lash out on him.

Zak was beyond furious by now, working himself up not only because of the fact that he was basically condemned to live a much to short life for his liking but also because he was sure that he was going to be thought a child for a _very _long time. However, Dumbledore's words brought him out of the vicious circle of his thoughts. Or rather his last words did the trick.

The drow looked with a bit of a surprised face at the old wizard before him, eying a strange little tube filled with yellow lozenges with suspicion. In his peripheral vision he was able to pick out the surprised and more than in one case completely incredulous looks his colleagues were sending the old man. Not sure what he should think of all this Zak did the one thing that came to any drow naturally.

He became automatically suspicious.

"I don't eat any shit that a old goat like you shoves in front of me, so you can take your bloody drops or whatever you call them and shove them where the light of Lethander doesn't reach." Zak said glaring at Dumbledore, and although he tried to sound menacing, his stomach decided it was as good as any moment to let itself be known. Blushing a bit but determined to save his face the drow still leveled the aged wizard with his eyes, observing his casual shrug and unwrapping one of his sweets. During all this he noticed that the woman he all but chewed out looked like she wanted to say something, but she quickly thought better of it and backed out. All in all, 'ol' Silverbeard' casually sucked on his treat, making Zak droll slightly.

_'Ah… what the Hells…'_"On second thought, no harm in accepting some candy now, is there? At least it doesn't seem to be poisoned or anything…"

"Please, help yourself!" Dumbledore replied happily, passing the tube full of hard candy to him. Although Zak did feel hungry (being unconscious for almost three days tends to do that to a person) he eyed the strange treat warily, looking at it from all angles before he decided to actually try it. After that… well, the only thing that came to his mind was comparing the sweet to its Lentanian counterpart.

Seeing that their guest calmed down a little bit from his earlier furious state Dumbledore decided it was as good as any moment to try and work out this whole situation they found themselves in. With his normal kind demeanor he cleared his trough, gaining the attention of the lost drow.

"If I may be so bold as to inquire: why was it that you reacted the way you did when hearing about your aging rate, Mr. Vicloth? Most, if not anyone in your place would gladly great an opportunity to basically relive their youth, especially someone of such 'advanced' age as yourself. You however looked like it was some kind of death sentence placed on you. Why is that?"

Hearing this Zak ceased to suck on his candy and looked at his interlocutor with a somewhat blank expression.

"I overheard you lot talking about Svartalfs, my, as I guess, distant cousins." He replied evenly. "Being as it is: how is it that you don't know how fast my people age? It's almost common knowledge even in the most backwater societies I've met."

"You'll address us in the proper manner, bo…" The greasy fellow known as Snape tried to sneer at Zak, but one glare from his lilac eyes pretty much shut him up. He probably still had his attack fresh in his memories, considering that his hand still hurt like hell.

"It's quite alright Severus. If it'll help our guest understanding everything I won't hold his rude behavior against him." Dumbledore assured his employee, after which he looked again at Zak, his pleasant smile present under his long, silvery beard. "Well, as it is, I, or no one I know for that matter, do not know anything about the aging process of Svartalfs because of the simple fact that up until today no one ever saw one of your kind before." At this Zak arched an intrigued eyebrow. "Your people, Mr. Vicloth, were, or should I say still are regarded as stuff of legend. Nobody ever seen a representative of your… species, as inelegant as that sounds."

"Well, that at the very least explains your politeness to me, Mr.…?

"Dumbledore, Albus Dumbledore." The aged wizard replied, extending his wrinkled hand. Zak in kind took it and shook hand with him.

"Zak'Talqosee Vicloth, pleased to make your acquaintance." After they're brief but wary (at least on one part) greetings the dark elf continued. "From where I hale, most people tend to stay clear of my kinsmen. It's not really a surprise either, considering our rather violent history and a tendency towards dark and evil behavior. Seeing however one of you surfacedwellers react to me like to one of your own kind was… well, a bit odd to say the least. That got me a little confused and until I saw my own reflection I really couldn't understand the level of indifference and, let's face it, ignorance shown towards me."

"Ignorance?" A sharply stated question was directed at him from one Minerva McGonagall. "What exactly do you mean by 'ignorance'?"

"Basically: most humans know at least so much about elves, that they can tell that a… what was it… twenty year old lookin' elf can actually be hundred and fifty years old." Zak replied, taking some measure of pleasure seeing the shocked expression on McGonagall's face. "That's also the answer to your question, Mr. Dumbledore. Me, being a hundred and twenty one year old drow trapped in a body of a rivvil _(human) _eleven year old is a _bit _unsettling. Especially considering that your kind rarely live more than one century, not to mention elven seven hundred years. I had all the right to be upset at being stripped of more than _five hundred years of my life_ now, had I?" A bit of sarcasm laced his voice at the end, especially looking at the woman that had the nerve to scold him about his use of foul language. Then again…

"Also for what it's worth: sorry for exploding like that." Now this took the gathered wizards and witches by surprise. "I know I had no right to call your race what I called it, but considering that I'm stuck as one of you and that you guys look too… _alien _for my liking I think that was the only logical reaction I could come up with. Really, I didn't suspect that I would ever miss my dark skin so much. Not to mention my pointy ears… damn, especially the ears…" Right about now Zak sounded like he was only a step from braking up in front of the four humans, but he didn't care. He missed his ears so damn much already!

"Speaking of which –how did you end up in a human body in the first place, Mr. Vicloth?" Seeing an opportunity Dumbledore launched his question, hoping to gather as much information as he possibly could on his new guest as well as on the place he came from. Zak for his part, not seeing any problem with sharing a bit of his life history, especially considering that he was a guest here decided to indulge them in the unbelievable story known as his life.

To say that the four native magic users were shocked was a huge understatement –they were completely mesmerized by what they heard. And it was still a hugely watered down version of Zak's story, created only for the purpose of this one talk. Their eyebrows were having a hard time staying on their heads during his tale, their heads having a hard time wrapping themselves around the concepts their white headed guest was using, even considering that they used wizarding logic, not the common one. Problem is, this also was like a wind in the sails of the boat known as ' HMS Severus'-Snape's-Box-of-Disbelieving-the-Crazed-Kid's-Story'. To be honest, only Dumbledore looked like he was willing to actually buy Zak's story, but seeing that he was a bit strange himself spoke volumes about his credibility. One way or another, the stranded drow brought his story to an end, giving them the opportunity to ask any questions they had. And one greasy bast… erg… I mean Potions Master decided to use this opportunity.

"So, if I got your story right, _Mr. _Vicloth… "he still spat the 'Mr.' part like it was an insult "…you were born over a hundred years ago, in a town called Menzoberranzan, lying in some place called Underdark that you claim is located on another planet, called by you Faerûn…"

"Toril" Zak interjected. "The world's called Toril, Faerûn is the name of the continent I live… _lived _on."

"So you lived there for the most of your life, then suddenly decided to leave your homeland because you refused to worship a spider goddess by the name of Lolth." This time it was McGonagall's turn to ask, her voice laced with skepticism. "A priestess named Tristonein Yasliesril was sent after you to kill or otherwise deal with you, is that right? She was trailing after you for more than fifteen years, most of them by the way you spent living on the surface of your world, and up until now you were able to dodge her attempts at killing you. You also mentioned that during your travels on the surface of your planet you were broadening you horizons, especially by raiding ruins of a ancient civilization named in such a way that I can't pronounce it…"

"Illefarn" Zak supplied, only to be rewarded by a glare from the transfiguration teacher.

"During one of these excursions you were attacked by the same priestess you mentioned earlier and forced to flee inside the old ruins. There you found some sort of prison chamber holding a flying, talking skull that changed you and your stalker into humans, in your case a eleven year old boy, and sent you trough some sort of… portal… that basically opened here, in Hogwarts. Is that all or did I miss something?"

"Quite a bit actually, but you lot didn't exactly think I would cough up my full biography in the span of two hours now, did you?" He replied cheekily, completely disregarding the rather doubtful way McGonagall and Snape recounted all that and looking at the faces of everybody in an analytical sort of way. After a moment's pause he sight softly. "You don't believe me, don't you?"

"That much is obvious." Snape was really getting irritated by all this nonsense. "Your story is so preposterous that it's not even funny. For one: how was a skull able to _'live' _(he actually used air-quotes), not to mention _'think'_, if it was just that –an oddly ornamented human skull? And how did you actually ended up here, _Mr. _Vicloth?"

"Explaining both of these things is possible, although I can't be quite sure how Khrel-Ithyr ended up being only a skull." Zak stated without any hesitation, surprising both of the doubtful 'elders' with his confidence. "The theory of the Myriad of Worlds states, that it is more than possible that there are other Material Planes in the endless expanse of the Plane of Shadows, connected to one another via the Shadow Plane itself. Each Material Plane in turn has its own Astral, Inner and Outer Planes like the Plane of Elemental Fire or the Endless Layers of the Abyss, but only one Shadow Plane, common to all worlds. This theory seems extremely plausible, concerning that not only were the Mulhorand people once slaves of the Imaskar Empire brought to Toril from another world, but the Orc tribes seem to be a non-native race entirely."

"As for Khrel-Ithyr and how he was able to 'live' being only a skull… well, at one point of his life he must have undergone a transformation into a lich." Seeing the blank stares of the others Zak rolled his eyes. Clueless they were, bloody clueless. "Liches are basically undead wizards that had bonded their souls to an physical object of some sort – it's called a phylactery after the ritual. Liches fuel their carcass' with pure energy borrowed from the Plane of Negative Energy. It's a quite common praxis, you wouldn't believe how easy it became to run into a lich or necromancer trying to rise a private army of living dead. There was even a rather big war involving undead quite recently, the Second War with the King of Shadows if I'm not mistaken. That however is a entirely different story."

Once again the gathered wizards and witches exchanged confused glances, trying to comprehend what Zak was trying to tell them. Snape's accusations of him lying seemed to lose their credibility in light of the drow's explanations. That is if you actually believed in the existence of the Plane of Negative Energy, or in other planes than the Material one in general. However, one could not truly outrule the possibility of there being any other worlds, and as such could not conclude that Zak's words were untrue. After all, parallel universes were more of a domain of muggle science fiction writers and eccentric physicists than a researched theory in the magical world. In the end, it was Dumbledore that had the final say in the matter, and considering the exited twinkle in his eyes one could safely state, that he was buying every word the drow-turned-boy said.

„I must say, you reason on a level I have never before, Mr. Vicloth." The headmaster spoke up, a intrigued smile hidden beneath his silvery beard. "One could argue, that you actually have some experience with the things you mentioned."

"Well, I _am _what you call a white necromancer, that is I know and use necromantic spells not designed to raise undead, and know the theory behind the darker aspects of this obscure art, including creating necrotic beings." Zak replied with a shrug, completely disregarding the somewhat apprehensive looks most of the occupants of the chamber sent him. He was simply too used to looks like that to care. "I don't use these spells however that much –not my thing. I'm more of a straight up evocations expert than a necromancer. And as for portals and other planes… well, counting this, furthest as to date journey, I leaved my Material Plane… hmm, I'm not quite sure myself. I used the Shadow, Astral and Ethereal Planes more times than I can keep track of. I was however once in one of the Inner Planes and twice in the Outer Planes, although the latter two were kind of detached from the main bough of the World Tree."

"Oh, do tell, where ever have you went?" McGonagall, her gaze piercing asked the stranded drow, clearly not convinced by his words so far. Not noticing her tone of voice, or more precisely ignoring it Zak began explaining, to the best of his abilities.

"Let me think… I recall I was once on the Clockwork Nirvana of Mechanus, a land that consisted purely of sprockets and cogs, some of them as big as whole worlds, each a part of a machine so complicated, that even the gods themselves couldn't hope to guess its inner workings and functions. It wasn't a fun ride to say the least: living in a place where every rule and stupid law has its physical manifestation and wandering between gears was more than nerve wrecking, not to mention deadly was definitely not my definition of a walk in the park."

"There was also the time I ended up in the Ever-Changing Chaos of Limbo, a place where the forces of the elements battle endlessly, changing in a matter of seconds, behaving more like a stirred glass of water than a world. It was a stupid mistake on my part that led me into that hostile environment, I only planned to jump into the Astral Plane and wait until Tris loses me so I could go back. I was stuck there for some time and only thanks to the kindness of the githzerai sorcerer-monks from the Zerth'Ad'lun monastery was I able to go back."

"And there was this one time one of my experiments went awry and instead of me summoning an air elemental I ended being hurled onto the endless expanse of the Elemental Plane of Air. It was short of a miracle that I stumbled upon that flying island with a genie town on it; I wasn't exactly prepared for an expedition like this and didn't have any supplies on my. I would probably starve to death if it wasn't for that one genie that took pity on me and sent me back home."

"So you meant to tell us, that you've been in a place, where there was no solid ground, where the four elements battled each other and in a place, where the whole world was a giant machine?" McGonagall once again asked with her voice heavily laced with disbelief. Hearing her question Zak only shrugged, indicating that it was his version and he was going to stick to it. All this proved however one thing: that Snape was right in believing that the _being_ they were dealing with was either lying or insane. Only problem with that: Dumbledore had a completely different view on this matter.

"Fascinating! Simply fascinating!" The aged wizard exclaimed, his enthusiasm enough to surprise all three of his companions and one drow. "So other worlds do exist and look that much different from ours?! That's truly amazing! If it wasn't for you and the fact that you don't seem to shield your thoughts that much, Mr. Vicloth, I would've considered you lying. I can however sense that you really did do all of that. Truly fascinating!"

"He isn't shielding his thoughts?" Snape asked surprised, looking between his employer and the white haired boy sitting in the bed with a confused expression. "But how can that be? I'm incapable of penetrating even the surface thoughts…"

„You having a weak mind and being unable to breach my passive mental defenses is not my problem, _Mr. _Snape." It was Zak that replied instead of Dumbledore, the way that he spoke the word 'Mr.' being a clear indication, that he thought as poorly about him as the Potions Master was thinking about him. However before this little jab at Severus' pride had even the slightest of chances to escalate into a full blown fight ol' Silverbeard decided to interject.

"I wouldn't have put it like our guest had, but it is true: even his passive defenses are exceptionally powerful. You see, Severus, even I can only tell when Mr. Vicloth here is lying or tallying the truth, nothing more. Poppy was right in concluding, that his mental resistances are unbelievably powerful."

"I had quite a bit too many run ins with creatures that tried to mentally rape me, so it shouldn't be a surprise that I don't just let anyone into my brain. Especially scum that threatened me just a few hours ago." The last part the drow added softly, so that only Dumbledore and Snape were able to hear it. And although the headmaster was less than pleased to hear that his guest was rather uncivil towards one of his most valuable employee's, he wasn't about to scold him for his behavior. It would feel rather odd, trying to tell off someone, that was almost your age, even if he looked like a eleven year old.

Severus Snape was definitely having second thoughts about this _boy_. At first, and by that I mean after he attacked him, the Potions Master was more than willing to call him a threat that had to be dealt with. With time his view on him was slowly changing, and now it had reached a new level. A level, that up until today had only one group labeled as such. He wasn't only a threat now. It was more personal.

It was like having a new Marauder to just hate with a fiery passion.

During all this Zak was smirking slightly. He perfectly knew, that by acting like he was and pushing this man's buttons he would enrage him, but right about now he was hoping for a distraction, be it an argument or a brawl. It would at least clear his mind off this whole predicament he found himself in. Then again, he really shouldn't do what he was doing –it went against the teachings of the Moon Maiden. And even if he wasn't as pious as the priestesses, he generally tried to live up to the title of an Eilistraeean, and acting hostile to surfacedwellers was _not _a good way of showing that.

And then there was the issue with this whole Dumbledore character. The news that he apparently was able to gaze into one's mind was disturbing to say the least. Zak really liked his privacy, and his thoughts were one of the most cherished private possessions of his, so any breach by any being was like a declaration of war for him. Then again, he did say that he was only capable of discerning when he was lying, so it wasn't that bad. He didn't lie for now at least, so he hadn't any reason for being concerned too much. But still, the strange tickling in the back of his mind was kind of familiar, like… like the time when a mind flayer was desperately trying to _eat his fucking brain_.

With a sigh Zak shook his head, trying to clear his mind of thoughts of his goddess, mind-eating monsters and old geezers and focused on the present. He did a quick rerun of all that happened to him so far, and again he found himself rather annoyed by the fact he ended up as some sort of human-drow hybrid in a world that started to annoy him after spending less than a day in it. This time however he stayed calm, remembering his priorities.

_"Right… First of –try to use your own magic."_

With that thought in mind Zak cracked his fingers, gaining the attention of the four resident wizard/witches, and waved his hand lazily, muttering a quick, almost inaudible incantation. The silver-bearded man and his companions seemed puzzled by his actions, but then, from behind of them, from the opposite wall the shards of the conjured and then shattered hand-held mirror flown up, accompanied by its broken frame. And then, like if it was the most normal thing in the world, the broken pieces of glass and silver reformed and repositioned themselves inside the said frame, creating a once again whole mirror, if you disregarded the crack-lines of course.

The astonished crowd of locals looked on, each and every one of them completely stupefied at what their guest was doing. The fact that he basically showed them an example of unparalleled control over his magical abilities _without the use of a wand _was in itself sufficient enough to tell, that he really was exceptional. However, they weren't prepared for what was coming next, and considering their combined experience that was saying something.

Zak gazed at the broken mirror floating before him with an almost uninterested look in his eyes. He eyed the cracks in the glass, grunted slightly and touched it with only his finger, muttering a new set of draconic sounding incantations. After only half a second all the fractures sealed themselves, like they never were shattered in the first place. Content with his handiwork the drow looked at his reflection and once again sighed. Looking at his face and not his face at the same time was going to be a pain. And the fact his little illusion spell worn off only added to his annoyance. _"Well, on to part two then."_ He decided that he could remedy at least the last part, so, looking as if he did that casually Zak snapped his fingers, still looking at his reflection in search for anything he missed.

Dumbledore and his companions, still mesmerized by what they saw began to quickly blink their eyes, wondering if what they saw actually was happening or not. For before their very eyes Zak's face began to change, not by much mind you, one could still see that the basics of his looks stayed the same, but still. What did happen was that his scars, each and every one of the scars that littered his face and his body alike began to mold and disappear, replaced by smooth, healthy looking skin. They noticed that even the lacking part of his left hand ring finger reformed, looking like it was whole again, never severed from the rest. Just… just what had happened?

"Xsa, I still look like a pale piece of shit." They heard Zak comment his new image, looking at it in the mirror. "Well, I guess one can't have everything at once, right?" He added as an afterthought, looking at his hosts. Just then he noticed their unbelieving expressions. "What, never seen a wizard at work before?"

The first one to breach the silence was, surprise, surprise, Dumbledore. The drow once again noticed that his eyes twinkled in that disturbing manner while he asked the question that was on everybody's mind.

"How were you able to do that?"

"Magic, what else?" Zak replied, rolling his eyes at the aged wizard. For someone as old as him he was acting as if he encountered something like the Mage's Hand or Repair spells for the first time in his life. And he called himself a wizard? Then again… "You weren't asking about that, were you, Mr. Dumbledore?"

"No, I was asking how were you able to cast spells or otherwise control your magic to that great a extent without the use of a wand." The headmaster clarified. This caused however Zak to look at him surprised.

"What do you mean 'without the use of a wand'? It's the most basic way to cast spells. Why would I need a wand to work magic if I could do the same damn thing using my hands and my will? Unless…" The stranded ilythiiri trailed off, his brain shifting to high gear. All that he noticed up until now: the weird spell used to heal or otherwise patch up that greasy guy; the fact that the woman that strongly reminded him of a dwarf for one reason or another conjured a mirror waving her wand; now the weird looks he received for not using one. It all suddenly added up and he came to an interesting conclusion. "You lot _need_ wands to work magic, don't you?"

"Precisely, that is why I and my colleagues are so surprised by your ability to cast spells without one, Mr. Vicloth. I assumed that your brand of magic wasn't so… different… from ours."

"Well, you assumed wrong then." Zak replied, a mixture of an amused smirk and a fascinated glint in his eye adorned his face. "In my world wands are like… bows and arrows for lack of a better comparison. We store a number of single 'castings' of spells in one, and then use it by pointing them at what we want to be bewitched and uttering the command word. But casting spells _by the use of wands_? That's the first time I ever heard of something like that."

"What you just described was one of the more fascinating things I have heard in a long time, Mr. Vicloth." Again, Dumbledore sounded just like he ended up locked in a storeroom filled with lemon drops. "In our world only a handful of wizards are able to cast any sort of spells wandless, and virtually no one can cast anything more than a simple light spell that way. What you just showed was simply amazing."

"Yes, I bet it was." Zak replied uninterested, his mind already on another part of his 'to do' list. The drow casually looked around, as if trying to locate something and after a few moments groaned slightly, obviously not finding what he was looking for. Deciding that he really shouldn't be so surprised about that he shook his head and looked at Dumbledore, who was apparently still going on about his apparent 'fascinating knack for wandless magic'. "Where's my stuff?"

The rather blunt question coming from their guest took Dumbledore by surprise. He momentarily stopped what he was saying and blinked a few times.

"I beg your pardon?"

"My stuff. Where is it?" Zak repeated, slight annoyance clearly heard in his voice. "I mean I seriously doubt that I came to be here with only one bag on me and…" He quickly glanced at the hospital gown he was in. "…with no pants… Who for the love of all things sharp and pointy took off my clothes?!"

"Um… That would be me." Madam Pomfrey replied, not quite sure what to make of her patient now. He did act strangely before, but now was just plane bizarre. All in all, Zak looked at her for a moment and shook his head.

"And here I hoped that a young novice priestess did that. Life is cruel like that sometimes I suppose." If someone of the four resident wizards/witches still had any doubts regarding the truthfulness of Zak's statement regarding his age, this one jab dispelled them. It was rather uncommon to meet a eleven year old making jokes about something like that. Older teens more likely, but not first-years. Zak however didn't seem to particularly care what they were thinking about him and continued, this time more seriously. "Really, can someone tell my where's my gear? My bag wasn't the only item in my possession you know."

"Well, most of it is placed in my office for safe keeping." Poppy replied once she regained her composure after that little joke made by Zak. "Your clothes were sent to be cleaned, most of them seemed to be stained with mud and… now I know… blood. They should be back later today."

"Fair enough." He replied. "And what about Dragontongue?"

"Dragon's what?" This time it was for McGonagall to ask surprised. She didn't have the slightest idea what Zak was talking about. She didn't notice a slight flinch made by Dumbledore, who as the only one had any idea what their guest was talking about.

"Dragontongue." Zak repeated, his eyes fixed on Dumbledore. McGonagall might have missed his flinch, but Zak sure as all Hells didn't. "It's the name of my blade. A enchanted katana sword, sharp enough to cut trough steel and able to burst into flames. Seriously, you can't possibly miss it, especially that it was strapped to my belt the entire time. Isn't that right, _Mr. Dumbledore?_"

Hearing the last part everyone looked at their employer, surprised by the revelations and in a way seeking an answer to the question if Zak actually was telling the truth. Seeing, that their wizened superior was actually avoiding the drow's gaze led them to believe that he actually was being serious. Well… One more thing to supplement Snape's theory about Zak being a dangerous lunatic slash hired assassin.

After a few seconds of avoiding his eyes Dumbledore decided, that there was no use hiding that particular information from Zak.

"I took the liberty of relieving you of it for the time being, Mr. Vicloth. For one –it would look suspicious if I brought here someone looking like a fresh student carrying about an exotic looking sword. Besides, I do not believe that you needed it so badly, being unconscious and all."

"I guess you're kind of right, I apparently didn't need to use it here… 'sides that one time when Mr. Slimy over there decided it was a good idea to threaten me." Zak replied thoughtfully, shooting Snape a sideways glance and smirking slightly at seeing his rather furious scowl. "Still, I would appreciate if I could get it all back. Need to do an inspection I do, 'specially that I'm not quite sure how my things handled the journey here."

"That's… understandable, I think." McGonagall slowly replied, not quite sure herself what to make of all this. "I do have a question however: Why would you need a sword, let alone a heavily enchanted one?"

"Self-defense." The drow replied shortly. "Faerûn, especially the North and the Savage Frontier aren't what you would call a picnic ground, not to mention that I delve into forgotten crypts of ancient civilizations for a living. That and I was stalked by a crazed priestess, or did you already forgot about that little detail?"

Again silence greeted them after the declaration made by Zak, nobody quite sure what to make out of it. Only now did it down on them full forced, that they had a seriously dangerous and probably powerful wizard from another world, and the thought that he lived a life that hardened him to the extent that he was actually joking around about his near death experiences was frightening, at least to the more sensible ones of the group. Dumbledore seemed to not particularly care, and Madam Pomfrey was still more concerned about his health, due to her vows as a healer. Still, it was the headmaster that replied to the question asked by the stranded ilythiiri.

"I believe that we can arrange for you to get your gear back, Mr. Vicloth. The other bag you had on yourself should be somewhere here, and as was said –your clothes should be cleaned by the end of today. As for your… sword… Well, I would appreciate if you could accompany me to my office and discuss some matters of interest while I give you your possession back. Is that acceptable?"

Zak looked at the old wizard warily, not quite getting what was his angle. It sounded almost as if he wasn't too keen on returning his possessions, at least when it came to his sword, but he didn't seem to have any insidious motive to not do what he was asked for behind it. And what were exactly the 'matters of interest' that he was talking about? For all the drow Spellsword knew, the only thing he owed them was for the care they must have taken of him while he was unconscious. Did they want some kind of payment for it? If so, he would pay and be on his merry way. He had a really long way ahead of him and didn't want to be held back by something like a debt.

While Zak was thinking, McGonagall and Snape looked at their employer with both shocked and confused expressions. The head of Gryffindor didn't know what to think about all that was going on. Clearly confused and only now coming to terms with the concept of actually meeting a century old wizard from a different universe, mysteriously changed into a human child. It was something most people would find trouble with accepting, but if Dumbledore was willing to accept his explanations, so would she. As for Snape… well, he was shocked that the 'oh so wise leader of the Light' was so accepting of one such as Zak, who clearly was a threat and who just moments ago was close to confessing, that given the chance he would kill him. And to actually willingly give him back a weapon? He ignored the fact that Dumbledore hadn't even bother to inform him about him being in possession of a sword, that clearly was this 'Zak' guy's possession, but really –give something like that back to him? Severus really began to wonder if siding with one as… careless as the headmaster was really that good an idea. The Dark Lord didn't make such stupid mistakes as this one, of that he was certain.

After a few moments more of contemplation Zak finally came to and conclusion. Looking Dumbledore in the eye (and feeling once more the strange sensation in the back of his head) he took a deep breath and began:

"I'm not quite sure you know what you're getting yourself into, Mr. Dumbledore." At this the said wizard raised an intrigued eyebrow. "I'm not going to negotiate any… I don't know… terms of release or sum' such nonsense. If I want to get out, with my gear, _I'm going to get out_ _with my gear_, and there's nothing you or anyone can do about it, do I make myself clear?"

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Vicloth." Dumbledore replied calmly, as if Zak's words didn't make any kind of impression on him. "No one's going to keep you here by force. We're civilized people. All I want to do is discus some mutually beneficial… exchange of ideas so to say. You don't even have to answer any questions if you don't want to."

"So why not just tell me what you want here and now and get this over with?" Zak questioned suspiciously, studying intently Dumbledore's face in search of anything that could give a clue to what exactly did the old wizard want. "Why not bring my weapon here? Why all the secrecy?"

"It's not secrecy, it's more like courtesy. I doubt that you're all that comfortable with sitting in a hospital bed, surrounded by four strangers, wearing only a hospital gown, Mr. Vicloth." A small amused smile appeared on the headmasters lips after that small declaration. The flustered look on Zak's face was amusing enough.

"Yeah… you're probably right. It's kind of uncomfortable." He replied slowly, his hand instinctively traveling to the backpack that was still lying beside him on his bed. "Could I get a moment of privacy? I would like to change."

"Change? Into what? Your clothes are still…" Began Madam Pomfrey, but Zak quickly cut her off.

"Do you think that I have only one set of clothes with me? Man, you guys are strange. I'm more than prepared for a extended stay in the wilderness, and that includes a change of clothes to last me a month." For emphasis he reached into his bag and after a few seconds emerged with a white, buttoned up cloth shirt. It was a bit too large for him, but after Zak flicked it once it shrunk, getting onto the right size. "Now, having _that _all cleared up… you some kind of pedophiles that you're still here, waiting for me to strip?"

That was enough for them to take a hint and back out, letting him change in peace. Zak, who was rather proud of himself proceeded to dress, which was more challenging than he initially thought. He didn't notice it up until now, but his coordination took a pretty large hit after he was changed into a child. He suspected, that the spell Khrel -Ithyr used on him had something in common with the Baleful Polymorph spell, at least in the dexterity department. However after fumbling around for a few minutes he was capable of putting on most of his clothes, consisting of a white cloth shirt, a pair of dark brown leather pants and some socks. He also found out that his Headband of vast intelligence was still on his head, which put him at ease. It appeared that these people weren't as bad as he initially thought and didn't want to rob him of his magical equipment. That much was good.

After getting dressed Zak decided to stand up. Warily and slowly, the drow-changed-human placed his feet on the cold stone floor and began shifting his weight until he stood fully erect. So far so good, it didn't seem that the change made a weakling unable to stand by himself out of him. He did find himself being sore however, something that couldn't be attributed to the curse he fell victim to.

"Out of curiosity, how long was I out?" Zak asked trough the screen, gingerly crouching for his magical boots.

"We found you unconscious almost two full days ago, Mr. Vicloth." Replied the voice of the resident medwitch.

"Oh… Well then I think a 'thank you for your help' is in order." The drow replied, his voice sounding a bit shocked. He suspected that he blacked out for maybe twelve hours, not forty eight. That plane-shifting spell really did a number on him, and come to think of it, he really should be grateful to these people. They may have acted like a bunch of idiots, especially the old one with the beard, but if it wasn't for them he probably would have lesser chances to actually wake up.

Slowly standing up again, after he managed to put his boots on, Zak approached the edge of the screen and with a little sway to his step went through it, ending up on the other side and facing a surprised looking medwitch. Apparently Madam Pomfrey didn't think that her patient would be already up and running, especially considering, that her initial checkup told her, that he was a victim of something similar to the Cruciatus curse. For all she knew Zak should be bedridden for the next few days, and the fact that he was moving about before, in the bed, was short of a miracle to her. Seeing however, that she was about to say something, probably ask him haw was he able to stand already he shot her a crocked grin.

"Why the surprised face? I was once a chew toy for a black dragon, something like changing planes and being unconscious for two days' now biggie for me." Leaving the school healer with a bewildered expression Zak turned to Dumbledore, who seemed a bit surprised, but still amused by his antics. "Well now, Mr. Dumbledore, I believe that you wanted to show me your office?"

"That's quite right." The wizard replied, his smile widening and the twinkle in his eyes gaining force. "But first of all, I believe that this belongs to you." And then, with a flick of his wand he summoned something, that to the naked eye looked like a weirdly decorated sack.

The bag was made out of soft, black skin. The opening of this sack was held shut by some odd looking twine, silvery in appearance and sparkling in the sunlight. Only after a closer inspection one could tell that it was made out of the hair from a unicorn's mane. The bag itself had also a series of runes embroidered on the outside, circulating the whole thing, made out of finely crafted, glittering golden threads. All in all, the sack didn't seem to be anything special, aside from the strange way it was decorated. It also wasn't that big, one could hardly fit more than into a large backpack and that it was almost completely empty. To Zak however this one item was worth more than he was willing to let the humans watching him know.

The drow took the offered bag from Dumbledore and examined it carefully, seeking any anomalies that could lead him to think that it was manipulated beforehand. To his great relief it seemed that it was in great condition and no one had tried to open it, which was good. Pleased with what he saw Zak tossed it on his back where it rested besides his backpack, firmly placed in its normal place. Looking back to Dumbledore he actually smiled in thanks.

"Now that everything's settled here, would you be so kind as to follow me, Mr. Vicloth? Hogwarts can be confusing and considering that you never walked its halls you could easily get lost." The aged wizard asked, and after getting a nod in affirmation he looked at McGonagall with a smile. "Minerva, could you join us? I do believe that you should be present during our little talk with Mr. Vicloth here. In fact, I think it's essential that you accompany us."

"Y-yes, of course, Albus." She replied, a bit surprised by her superiors sudden request. What could he possibly want to talk about that she had to be present? Only one thing came to her mind after hearing Dumbledore word his request like that. But… no, she was just being silly. It couldn't possibly mean that. It wasn't like the headmaster was going to … Dear God, she hoped it wasn't what she thought it was.

Unfortunately for her, it was.

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><p><strong>* Drowish for "Drow? Human? Both?<strong>


	3. Gultah dos h'rost nauxahuu

**Hey everyone! (Winces slightly) Damn, my head still hurts… Word of advice –if you're ever invited to a wedding in Poland, be prepared for a hangover of your life. (Mumbles to self) Almost a week and I still feel the aftereffects. Damn you vodka!**

**Okay now (looks slightly sheepish after noticing he said the last bit out loud) Em… The fic, yes! I, your humble host Eagle White, welcome you to yet another chapter of ****"****Natha keeshe lu' natha khaliizi". Once again, I apologize for the long wait, but this time I have a good explanation. (Adds silently) As if your cousin getting married and you suffering from a gigantic hangover wasn't good enough. The reason for this chapter being posted now and not sooner is because, well, basically I wrote it from scratch. I didn't have this one written beforehand, it originally being a much smaller part of the previous chapter, and I just needed to work everything out.**

**This chapter here may appear to be a bit on the slow side, as not much of it is action packed. As it is, it serves the purpose of clearing out some issues that may or may not arise in the later parts of the fic. Also, it served the purpose of introducing another OC of mine, one already mentioned in chapter one.**

**Also using the occasion, I would like to address an issue one of my anonymous reviewers had. So, to **_**Guest**_**: it may appear that my character is viewed too highly by the school staff, but keep in mind –they aren't impressed by the fact that he repaired a broken item by magic, but by the simple fact that he did that **_**without using a wand**_**, which is virtually impossible for most accomplished wizards on Earth.**

**There's also one more thing I would like to address before we start the chapter. I wanted to add a shout out to the user named **_**syed**_** for his great suggestions. I may not use all of them, but they do help me in creating a better and more detailed version of the world I try to present, and at least a couple of them will find their way into the fic. If you're reading this: THANKS! I really appreciate it!**

**Now then, I'll won't keep you from the chap any more. Hope you'll find this installment satisfactory and hope to see you again.**

**Eagle White**

**P.S.**

**Really. Do **_**not **_**get roped into a drinking contest during a wedding. (Sigh) I need a new ice bag.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I do not own anything that may be remotely considered a property of anyone else. The Harry Potter series, the Forgotten Realms setting, Neverwinter Nights and Dungeons&amp;Dragons are all owned be their respective owners.<strong>

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><p><em><strong>Natha keeshe lu' natha khaliizi<strong>_

_**Chapter Three**_

_**Gultah dos h'rost nauxahuu***_

After Dumbledore led his guest and his deputy into his office he looked at the white haired one with a friendly smile, his eyes twinkling. There were things that happened during their trek, things that were amusing for the elder wizard to say the least. And most, if not all of them involved the traveler from distant lands.

The first thing he noticed that brought a small smirk on his lips was the way he was walking. Dumbledore suspected, that being shrunk and placed in a body with slightly different proportions than the ones you were used to could make coordinating ones moves difficult. That being said, Zak was having a really hard time walking straight for more than a few steps. He tended to stumble and wobble, each of his steps slow to the degree that both he and McGonagall had to wait for him on more than one occasion. In the end, the drow decided that leaning one hand against the wall was the only way to get around in a relatively quick pace. Still, it all looked more like he was drunk than he had problems with walking, and although Dumbledore wasn't keen on seeing children intoxicated, this small picture was downright hilarious.

There was also the one time they entered a specific corridor, windows placed on one of the walls of it. Normally Dumbledore didn't pay much of his attention to this particular hallway, considering he spent almost a century himself roaming his school. That was probably why he forgotten about one particular window, a window that was unique in all of Hogwarts. The said window… didn't show what was behind it. In fact, it showed the entire school seen from the surface of the Black Lake, a unique phenomenon in the scale of the whole school. And, by pure chance, Zak had looked out of it.

The Headmaster didn't exactly know how to react to what he saw. One moment his guest was stumbling along the wall, his face in a concentrated frown. Half a second later, he was getting acquaintanced with the local parquetry. And as if that wasn't enough, he rose to his feet in just under five seconds, gripped the windowsill for support and gazed wide-eyed at the scene behind the window. It was getting even better, because Zak, still staring out the enchanted piece of glass began moving his mouth like a fish out of water. It took almost whole five minutes for the drow to finally come to terms with what he saw, turn around and continue following him and his employee. The look on his face however was still amusing like hell.

Third time's the charm as they say, and considering the ever rising spirits of one elderly wizard it just meant that this time he actually began to laugh (or rather chuckle). It all began as they entered yet another corridor, this time around littered with magical paintings. Dumbledore thought, that something like this wouldn't affect someone who claimed to be a wizard of exceptional skill, but he was greatly mistaken. It seemed that it was the first time Zak encountered moving paintings with speaking, living to an extent people on the canvas. He looked with a wild, somewhat fearful expression on his face at every painting they passed by, his free hand inching towards his backpack as if he wanted to pull something from out of it. However as soon as the drow noticed an amused expression sent his way courtesy of Dumbledore he forced himself to look impassive. He even began to pointedly ignore every painting in the immediate vicinity, or at least pretend to do that. Seeing that he still shot them sideways glances and was a bit twitchy did nothing to improve his image. So it wasn't really that much of a surprise when the Headmaster started chuckling to himself silently.

He missed the annoyed glare sent his way by Zak.

Arrival to his office also was a rather unusual event. Like always when Dumbledore was either absent, preoccupied or out for an extended period of time the gargoyle protecting the way to his workplace took its position before the entrance. Used to this by now the silver bearded wizard without so much as a heads-up uttered his password ('lemon drop', but that shouldn't surprise anyone) and waited for the stone being to move aside. It did just that after maybe half a second, but the moment it moved it was hit by a crimson beam that after a quick examination was found out to have originated from no other than Zak. The drow didn't seem at all perturbed by what he did, and answered the unasked question of McGonagall with a quick _"I don't trust gargoyles."_ That being said, the stone being in question didn't seem to be damaged in any fashion, so both Dumbledore and a reluctant McGonagall had to drop the issue.

Returning to the here and now the Headmaster shock his head slightly. As amusing as those events were… well, most of them at least… they were here for a very important reason. Stealing a glance at his coworker Dumbledore cleared his throat and again with a kind smile spoke to their guest.

"Now then, Mr. Vicloth, why don't you take a seat so we may begin our…" The Headmaster didn't get to finish his sentence however, silenced by the raised hand of the drow, signaling him to stop.

"No thank you, I really need to get a hang of this new body." Zak replied, walking slowly around the office and looking with a mildly interested expression on his face at the contents of the room. From Dumbledore's magical equipment, the silvery machines that were silently humming and letting out wisps of some kind of vapor, trough the empty golden perch where Fawkes usually sat, the bookcases filled with mysterious titles and the claw-legged desk that remembered more than fifty former Headmasters. Finally he noticed the rows of magical portraits, filled with silently snoring predecessors of the man he was going to discuss matters with. Eying them warily he spoke, his voice firm and with no room for objections.

"If we're going to discuss anything, I want them gone." Zak gestured towards the sleeping paintings with his chin. "I gather that they can hear us, and I rather not talk about anything important with unnecessary witnesses, even if they're only paint and canvas."

"Please, Mr. Vicloth, there is no need for this. What I wish to discuss with you won't leave this office, I assure you on behalf of my honorable predecessors."

"Sorry, but that won't do." Replied Zak, his eyes bearing into Dumbledore's with unwavering determination. "It's entirely up to me to decide who may and who may not be present during this conversation. I have my doubts in allowing her…" here he gestured in the general direction of McGonagall "…to stay here, seeing how she reacted to my story. I seriously doubt these… paintings are going to be any different."

Dumbledore looked into the lilac eyes of the drow, searching for an answer why their guest really didn't want any witnesses. It was a fact, that what he had to say to the drow would be regarded as a secret, one which only a handful of wizards in this world would be aware of, but he trusted the portraits of the former Headmasters with his life, and if one thing was certain, it was that they could keep a secret. Still, why would Zak be so adamant on the level of secrecy? It wasn't like he knew what was going to be discussed here now… could it?

The thought struck Dumbledore like a ton of bricks. Was it possible that a legendary being like a Svartalf was capable of Legilimency on a level that he had trouble comprehending and as a result countering? Was he already in his head, despite his Occlumency shields? No, it couldn't possibly be that. There had to be another reason. Maybe it had something to do with what he wanted to discuss? Maybe his drow guest wanted to speak about something he himself considered a secret? Or maybe he was just plain mistrustful of the paintings? Yes, whatever it was, Dumbledore doubted it had anything to do with what _he _wanted to discuss.

"Very well." The Headmaster decided, nodding to Zak and turned around in his chair so he was facing the wall with the paintings. "I am deeply sorry for this, but could you leave us alone for a while? We need to discuss some issues of great importance, and my guest here is rather adamant in you leaving us."

The former Headmasters hearing this dropped their act and began to move out of their frames, leaving only empty canvas and in a couple of odd cases some of their belongings, like a hearing horn and such. A couple of them said their goodbyes as well, using the occasion to take a look at the –for them –skinny, white haired boy, that apparently had the nerve to order Dumbledore around. Some of them were surprised at this, and one of them even looked at the present Headmaster with an amused smirk and commented idly: "Yer growin' soft, Dumbledore". Aside from that little incident however, which by the way brought a slight smirk on Zak's face, the wall "emptied itself" in no time, leaving only the living occupant of the room behind.

"Kind of knew they were listening in." Zak commented, the smirk on his face still present. "Talk about walls having ears."

"Well, they don't have anything better to do most of the time." Dumbledore replied, a smile behind his beard. "Now, can we proceed?"

"Yes, by all means." The smirk on the Spellsword's face grew more predatory. "I'm waiting for my blade, just like we agreed."

Dumbledore wasn't surprised by that, he did promise Zak that he would return his sword to him after they got to his office. So, without further ado he reached under his desk and after a moment brought out the weapon, placed firmly in its sheath, and handed it to the drow. The whitehead for his part wobbled his way towards the desk and as quickly as possible took his possession from the hands of the Headmaster, as if the mere thought of being separated for even a moment longer was too much to for him to bear.

The aged wizard watched with great interest at what would be the next actions of the drow. Zak, completely disregarding him and McGonagall, who looked like she was torn between glaring at Dumbledore for keeping something like this from her and protest about giving the drow any form of weapon began inspecting his prized possession. Firstly he looked at the state the sheath was in. The piece of hand carved wood gleamed like always with its black surface, painted long ago and systematically renewed by all of its possessors. Zak however looked deeper. As the one to place them there he looked at the slightly darker specks near the mouth of the scabbard intently, looking at hidden runes, and then frowned. Looking up from the weapon, the drow shot a glare towards Dumbledore.

"My sword was recently unsheathed, and it wasn't me who did it." He said, his voice icy like his glare. Even someone as powerful as the Chief Warlock and Supreme Magwump felt a shiver run down his spine while meeting his gaze, and to end this rather tense situation he decided to confess.

"Alas, I fear that is true, Mr. Vicloth. I did in fact took a closer look at your weapon, but you must remember –at the time I did not know that you were in fact an adult. Thinking it a bit bizarre, that a child was carrying a weapon such as yours I decided to check if it was in some way magical, searching for an answer to both the origin of you and your blade." Dumbledore, still a bit unnerved by the look Zak was giving him almost audibly gulped and continued. "I assure you, that the weapon itself is in prime condition. I did not let anything happen to it, and everything that you may deem as damage happened before I even took it in my hands."

"You better hope it's in good condition." Muttered Zak under his breath, still glaring at the old wizard. He did however return his gaze to the weapon itself and decided to continue his evaluation.

The Spellsword inspected the scabbard once more, deeming it being in acceptable condition despite being manipulated by Dumbledore. Pleased with his examination he moved to the sword proper, and with a quick and clearly well trained move of his wrist he unsheathed it. Ignoring McGonagall's startled cry he weighted the blade in his hand, checking both if the blade felt any lighter or if his strength decide to leave him alongside his coordination. He decided after a moment, that all was surprisingly well, and that for some reason his strength seemed to be the same as before. How was that possible, he had no clue, but hey –he wasn't going to complain. Still, he knew that right now he would need both his hands to properly wield Dragontongue due to him losing quite a bit of counterweight. Wielding the sword one-handed would be rather awkward right now.

After his initial checkup Zak went to the more detailed one, starting with checking the balance of his blade. To do so, he placed the sword on his outstretched finger in the place, where he knew the center of gravity should be. This test was passed with flying colors as well, and Dumbledore began to steadily calm down. The weapon seemed to be in great condition, and its owner seemed mildly pleased. Still, the drow examined it with watchful eyes, seeking anything that could mean any damage dealt to the blade, if not by Dumbledore's attempts at discerning wetter it was magical or not then by the change of planes it undergone. Therefore he approached slowly one of the windows in this office and inspected the blade in the sunlight, letting the bright rays of the slowly descending sun gleam off the well polished surface of dozens of layers of steel.

Zak's inspection of his blade was slowly nearing its end, only a few things left unchecked. The drow ran his index and middle finger along the flat of the blade slowly, muttering an arcane formula under his breath, and watched with an almost bored expression as the normally only carved runes close to the hand guard came to life. Glowing a faint but still visible blue they caught the attention of both Dumbledore and McGonagall, who never up until today had seen something like this. To the Spellsword however it was completely ordinary, as he had seen this more times than he remembered, and went straight to the point. Examining the glowing runes he searched for any form of abnormality in their structure, and finding none he let himself smile softly. There was only one test left.

Grabbing the hilt of his weapon in both hands the drow muttered under his breath the command word. As always when he invoked this special ability of his sword, red-hot flames engulfed the blade, creating a coat of fire hot enough to melt gold and cause significant damage to anyone unfortunate enough to find himself on the receiving end of his blows. They were like music to Zak: pure, beautiful and deadly in the same time. They were perfect. And that meant only one thing –that Dragontongue was in prime condition, despite Dumbledore's prodding. And speaking of the Headmaster…

The aged wizard looked at the display of magical properties of one single sword with bated breath. His test did provide him with some basic information about the blade, but dry information about a "level of enchantment" wasn't capable of conveying the true power hidden inside the piece of steel. In all his long life he hadn't seen anything like this, and it was saying something. And to think all this power was just dormant until their guest uttered that almost inaudible word, hidden from prying eyes in a guise of a mundane object. It was truly amazing, even if a bit scary, for if this one normal looking object was indeed a powerful magical item, then what stood in the way of say boots or even a toothpick being something similar?

To McGonagall however the beauty and splendor of magic in its prime was lost, replaced by cold dread creeping down her spine. Up until now she had her doubts about all the things that Zak had said. She trusted Dumbledore, she really did, but even then she couldn't help but wonder what utter nonsense could come out of the whitehead's mouth. And the fact that her long time friend believed in all this was short of ridiculous. Now however she seen everything in new light; light produced by a deadly weapon in the hands of someone, who if you believed his words was a skilled wizard with a knack for swordplay. And that lone thought was making her nervous if not downright terrified, because if he wanted to, he could probably kill her right here, right now, and even Albus' lightning reflexes wouldn't be enough to stop him.

During all this Zak was completely oblivious to the thoughts of the two locals, more concerned with his "baby". All seemed well: the enchantment was stable, no sudden fluctuations passed through the length of the blade and the local equivalent of the Weave supported this kind of magic in the same way as the one back home. Still, the drow wanted… nay, needed to check it some more, to feel the weapon in his hands again, its weight when he swung it in a deadly arc, to see the brilliant display of wisps of fire tracing behind each of his blows. So he relaxed his muscles, cleared his thoughts, and simply let his body doo the rest.

Both of his hands gripped the handle tighter, readying for what was to come. He subconsciously placed his left foot in front, balancing most of his weight on his right leg. He calmed his breath and shut his eyes for a brief moment in concentration. In these few seconds his senses heightened to the level where he was able to hear the breathing of the two humans and smell the sweat pouring from underneath their skin; to sense their presence more accurately than he would be able to in normal circumstances. A trick he learned from a now dead master of the way of the Diamond Mind, an ancient school of swordplay; it allowed his mind to focus before battle to plan every tiny detail of his moves and to predict the moves of his foes almost at a level of a clairvoyant. He stayed in that position for a moment, letting his new body adjust and prepare for what was to come.

Finally, after what felt like hours but in fact was mere seconds Zak's eyes snapped open, and he began his deadly dance. He stepped forward, pushing himself with his left leg and in the same time making a diagonal slash towards it. Fire traced behind his blade as it sailed through the air, and as it came to a stop near his left leg, it almost immediately found itself raised again. With another quick step Zak brought the deadly peace of flaming metal down, just like before in a diagonal blow, this time directed at his right. Then, when the blade reached the end of its trail the drow used its momentum to make a pirouette, stepping yet another step forward, and bringing the deadly weapon for a strong, parallel blow, showering his surrounding with sparks of fire. After the combo of an x cut and a half-turn and taking yet another step forward the drow drew the sword to him, only to perform a powerful stab which sent another handful of little flames dancing trough the air. That wasn't however the end, as Zak had to perform one last pace of his dance of death. With speed unparalleled by even the best of Earth's swordsmen he lifted his blade over his head, and with the last step turning into a genuflection he brought it down, the blade only visible thanks to the flames trailing behind it. Stopping at last and letting out a breath he didn't even know he was holding, Zak slowly raised to his feet, after just under five seconds of unity with a weapon he cherished above all other.

Both Dumbledore and McGonagall looked wide eyed at the display of swordsmanship presented by their white-haired guest. At first they didn't know what was he planning, the look of concentration on his face unnerving the both of them. After he made his first step their hearts went all the way up their throats, and as sudden as it all happened, the transfigurations professor wasn't able to contain a surprised and frightened cry. Seeing however that Zak wasn't attacking and just going through a routine with his blade, and considering that after the first two paces he all but passed her by she calmed down a bit, letting herself be amazed by the deadly performance. What was surprising was that the drow seemed to regain all of his deadly grace in those few short quick moves, just like if he didn't have any problems with moving. The thoughts of him regaining his motor functions were extinguished a moment later, when he tried –and fumbled might I add, while rising from his kneeling position. It seemed that he regained his moves only while fighting. But why only then? It was a mystery that only Zak could discover.

After the drow finally gotten back on his feet and canceled the enchantment in his blade, making the flames die out in a manner of seconds he sheathed his weapon, running his finger over the runes placed on the scabbard, once again activating them so that he may be able to check if someone tried to take it out of its place of rest. Moments later he heard the unmistakable sound of Dumbledore clearing his throat, gaining his attention.

"Well, I must say –that was an impressive display you just shown us, Mr. Vicloth." The aged wizard said in a voice that barely was able to mask his amazement. Hearing this however made Zak smirk, though if it was because he appreciated the compliment or rather picked up on the hidden awe was a thing of dispute.

"Thanks." He replied simply, holding his weapon by its scabbard in his hand.

"Yes, a true swordsman you are, of that there is no doubt. But I must ask: where did you get such a blade? The magic contained within it is simply unbelievable, like nothing I have seen before."

"Where I got it is not important." Zak answered, eying his prized possession with some longing in his eyes. "As to the enchantments –I put them on myself, at least most of them. It's one of the ways I actually made money back home –enchanting weapons and armors for a fee. One can really live off of this, if he knows what he's doing and is good at it."

That tidbit of information right there was something Dumbledore wasn't expecting. Zak didn't exactly say what he was capable of during their last talk, so he shouldn't really be surprised by that revelation, but considering true enchanters were rather rare in magical Britain led the Headmaster into thinking, that another plane was no different in that regard. Also the fact that he was basically talking to someone, that made a sword more magical than the legendary Excalibur itself was beginning go get to him. Fortunately in that moment Zak decided to do something, that preoccupied him for some time and gave the aged wizard time to gather his thoughts. That is, it would have gave him the time, if what happened next wasn't so outlandish.

The drow was studying Dumbledore's expression for a few moments now, and when he noticed the faraway look on his face he guessed, that it would take him a good while before he regained his composure. That however meant, that this 'little chat' would stretch on for a bit, at least until the old man got back to reality. Not wanting to lose time by standing idly, Zak decided to check upon something he should a little while ago. Going to the pile of his things, sitting under the wall from which he began his little test he picked up his more ornate bag and placed it on the floor in the middle of the room. This action brought a questioning look from the only woman in their group to which he just shrugged.

"I need to check up on something. Mind if I do it now? It seems Ol' Silverbeard here went to la-la-land and it doesn't seem he's coming back anytime soon." He pointed in the direction of the Headmaster.

At first McGonagall didn't know how to respond, the obvious disrespect directed at her long time friend was something she was not very familiar with. Then again, this… well, Svartalf, there was no denying that now, especially if more things than his swordsmanship was true, had probably never heard about Dumbledore and therefore didn't know how to act around him. Deciding that it was wiser to act like she didn't hear the last bit she shook her head and replied with a curt "not at all".

Zak, pleased with the answer began his work. He kneeled before his bag and touched a series of inscribed runes in a seemingly random order. The action in itself looked like it was completely pointless, as nothing seemed to happen, and the truth was it was just a distraction. Zak, cultivating the old drow custom of not trusting anyone hoped to create a diversion while he silently whispered the command word that loosened the unicorn-hair twine that magically sealed his possession.

The silvery twine undid itself magically, just like if a invisible hand had something to do with this, and the sack opened itself. At first the inside of the bag seemed to be darker than expected, even considering that leather, from which it was created normally didn't let to much light trough it. After some seconds though something unexpected happened, something that McGonagall, who was watching all this with interest had not foreseen. The bag seemed to stretch a good bit, its mouth getting wider and wider, to the extent, where the spiral staircase leading to Dumbledore's office would probably fit in. And then, just like that, the inside of the sack became filled. Filled with something, that sure as hell wasn't anything a normal person would try to fit inside a leather bag.

A granite spiral staircase, not that different from the one leading to this office.

The transfigurations professor looked with bewilderment at the site she was witnessing. Why would someone keep a staircase in a bag? Better yet, what was in the feet of the stairs? Did they lead somewhere? Was this like the odd magical trunks that some wealthy wizards possessed? And if so, then why choose something as fragile as leather to contain such magic? Thoughts and questions like these circled around her head as she stared at the unexpected sight and the drow that seemed not at all perturbed by what was happening before his eyes.

Zak looked inside his bag, his eyes glancing at the state the worn rocky stairs were in. At first all seemed to be in order, the staircase aside from its dulled with the passage of time edges looked ancient, like always. Only after a moment did he notice something, that began to worry him. A crack line was running down the stairs, not at all large or threatening in any manner, but it wasn't there last time he checked on them. That meant that it must have appeared not to long ago, probably during his two days of unconsciousness. But if his staircase was damaged by the passing trough planes then what happened to the rest?

The drow paled, which was perfectly visible due to his now human skin, and seemed to get a bit troubled. A frown appeared on his face and he furrowed his brows angrily. If that blasted skull damaged in any way, shape or form his possession, his magical bag, he was going to find him and make a urinal out of him, even if it was the last thing he would do. And if he injured his familiar…

Zak was by now as white as a sheet of paper. He was furious with all that happened to him: his change, his loss of over five hundred years of life, his status as stranded in a unfamiliar plane, his loss of pointy ears… damn, how he missed them already… Generally he was so angry, that he forgot about something, that should be way more important than any damage made to his possessions, something, that made him now more scared then anything that happened in this world up until now. With a shaky step he approached the staircase and took a deep breath before he looked down into the depths of his bag.

"Kelell!?" He shouted, hoping for an answer.

* * *

><p><em>"Aw shit!" <em>Was the only thing he could think right now. Out of all the moments he could possibly decide to check up on him he decided to do it now, when he still didn't have a suitable explanation to all _this_. It was like the gods decided he was going to suffer for that one time he deliberately led him into a beehive. With a sigh and a heavy hart he rushed in the direction of the voice.

After a few nervous moment and quite a bit of flapping his wings he climbed the staircase and approached the exit. Seeing bright light he thought it quite a bit strange. His Boss wasn't known to willingly travel by day, even if the sunlight wasn't that much of an issue for him. Pushing that thought to the back of his mind for now he flew out the exit and as soon as he did that he needed to level his flight as to not hit the ceiling. Not the first time he was summoned outside indoors, but it was definitely the first time when the Boss was invisible.

He circled the room a few times, searching for his master with his beady eyes. Something was not right here. The first thing he noticed was that there were some old humans, probably wizards or sum such sitting near what he guessed was a strange desk. Then he spotted a white haired human boy, somewhat resembling his Boss but not quite, as he knew perfectly well that Boss wasn't one. Disregarding the fact that he was confined basically to a small room in what he guessed was some kind of tower, if the view from the windows was any indication, he really needed to find his other part. Even if it meant hearing him chewing him out for letting something happen to their "nest". And then, as he was getting invaded by dark thoughts concerning his near future the white haired kid brought out his arm in the same manner as his Boss usually did.

Unsure what was going on he lowered himself a bit and began to circle the kid, watching him intently. He was human, as he noticed before, but something about him struck him as familiar, and it wasn't the fact that he waited for him to land on his outstretched arm. Something in his face was similar to his Boss, something that he couldn't place at the moment. Was it his features? Well yeah, they too looked similar, and the fact that he haven't seen too many humans with almond-shaped lilac eyes… Wait a moment!

"That's you?!" He shouted, or rather cawed out in shock, momentarily forgetting about the fact he was airborne and flying straight into a wall and then fell on one of the tables littered with strange devices, knocking down most of them. However he quickly got back on his talons and stared at the white haired youth, that looked at him with bewilderment written on his face and still sticking his arm out.

"Well, that was random." He commented idly, finally dropping his arm. His voice however was something, that made the whole situation a lot more strange for the poor crashed bird, for the voice, a bit changed was still definitely his Boss'. But how was that possible?

"If you're who I think you are, then you should be able to understand me right now." He proclaimed loudly in a caw, looking intently at this Boss' look-alike. If he truly was his bonded wizard, then he should be able to understand him, and even reply in the same manner, using a caw himself. And sure enough an answer in just that manner came from the whitehead.

"I may have changed, Kelell, but I'm still bonded to you." So he knew his name, could understand him and talk in the language of crows with him, had the same eyes and the same voice. That could mean only one thing.

"Oh… err, hi…" Kelell replied unenthusiastically, sudden dread rising in his little bird heart. It raised to an even greater level when he noticed his Boss approaching and reaching out for him with his hand. In a sudden panic attack he scrambled to the air and flew across the room, sitting on the strange golden porch that was apparently vacant. Zak looked at him with a rather surprised expression.

"What's going on Kelell? Why'd you do that?" He questioned, turning around and looking at him with concern. "I was only going to check if you were alright after that crash you had."

"No need, I'm right as rain!" Kelell cawed out quickly and changed the topic as fast as he could. "You on the other wing look like you fell victim to Garl Glittergold's latest prank."

"Yes, because it's every day I run into a gnome high deity that has nothing better to do than change me into a human child." His Boss rolled his eyes, his voice oozing with sarcasm. Either he was angry at the predicament he found himself in, or he didn't appreciate the colorful analogy. Whichever it was, it wasn't good news for Kelell, that's for sure.

"So what happened?" The crow asked, trying to sound like he hadn't anything to hide. It worked rather poorly, but Zak decided to humor his familiar and answered his question.

"The short version? A flying skull-megalomaniac turned me into a human child and sent us to another world, just for laughs. I'm stuck like this and until I find a way to change back, I'm going to live and die like a human, so no pressure. I have just a bit less than a _fucking century_ to do that." Yep, the Boss was definitely pissed at the predicament. But there was one thing that bothered Kelell in this story. "And as if that wasn't enough, the locals…"

"Wait, wait! I… I'm not changed too, am I? I'm no, I don't know, pigeon or a freaking chicken nestling, am I? Please, I don't wana to be a chicken…"

"You flew you idiot, and chickens don't fly." Zak answered in a deadpan. That brought a stop to his familiars rambling, thanks be the gods. He knew perfectly well how the crow was able to basically talk your ears off if left unattended. "And now, as I was saying before you went all frantic on me, the local wizards are probably of no help to us. From what I gathered they barely even understand how they work magic, not to mention that they probably have something like the Weave here and still didn't even know about its existence."

"Talk about dunderheads." Kelell commented, trying to alleviate the stressful situation they both found themselves in. "And I gather that's why we're talking like this instead of using drowish, right?"

"They look spooked enough looking at me cawing to you, no need to trow 'em on a loop with you speaking in a somewhat human voice." Zak replied looking behind his back at the two elderly looking humans, gawking at them with their mouths opened in shock. "As of now I beg you, do _not _speak in any language 'sides our own private one when there's someone in the vicinity, not without my permission, okay? I don't want anyone to dissect you just to find out how are you able to talk, you hear me?"

"Yes mum, I get it." The crow replied halfheartedly, as messing around with people was his favorite pastime while not helping his Boss in his research. However as soon as he saw the glare directed at him from Zak he nodded quickly, or at least did a birds equivalent of it. "So… care to tell me where are we exactly? I heard something about a different plane, and what I saw through the window seemed to imply that we're somewhere high."

"We're in a castle of some sort." The drow shrugged. "I dunno where exactly we are, this is a different world after all. Only thing I do know is that we're in a castle that looks like fey designed it."

"That bad?"

"Worse. If it wasn't magical I doubt that it would stop even a peasant uprising, let alone any kind of force. Believe me, when I saw it from the outside (I still don't know why that window showed what it did) I was like "who in their right mind would build something like this?!""

"I guess dunderhead mages that don't even know about the Weave?" Kelell replied, trying to lift his master's mood. Unfortunately for him, that exact moment Zak decided to ask the one question that his crow familiar dreaded.

"So, tell me, what happened down there." He gestured in the general direction of the bag. His winged companion did the best impersonation of a gulp that a bird could manage and forced himself to speak as calmly as he possibly could, which by the way was an effort in vain.

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing! Everything is as it should have been, nothing to report. Boring to the extent I began to count the cracks…"

"Like the ones on the stairs?" Zak cut him off with a suspicious look and a raised eyebrow. Kelell for his part looked like he just was informed that a crow soup was his master's next dish.

"T…the stirs?" He asked, trying to play dumb. "I don't know what you're talking about…"

"Oh really?" The raised eyebrow sailed even higher, almost hiding itself under the drow's hairline. "If there isn't any cracks in the stairs or anywhere else, then why did the bag seal itself moments after you came out of it, hmm?"

If anyone doubted that a crow could blench, Kelell was there to prove them wrong. You could almost see his feathers turn white at the tips, and his beady, lilac ayes, so similar to those of his Boss' went as wide as they possibly could, wild panic clearly seen gleaming in them. Finally, after an agonizing moment for the bird which in reality was no more than five seconds long he regained his voice.

"Are… are you sure that you didn't close the lab yourself, Master?" He asked faintly. Seeing the look his wizard was giving him he cringed slightly. He knew he messed up.

"Now I know there's something going on." Zak looked at his familiar seriously. "You only call me 'Master' when there's something you don't want me to know about. So… spill."

"OK Master, OK." Kelell sighed (as much as a crow was capable of doing that) and looked at the whitehead with pitiful eyes. "It was like this: I was soundly asleep, minding my own beak when there suddenly was this huge crash! And then I woke up and saw that the walls were moving, and they were like rippling and stuff, and I panicked and flew of… and there was this next huge crash…! And another, and then one more… And~I~didn't~know~what~to~do~so~I~flew~and~there~was~this~cabinet~and~it~fell~on~me~but~I~dodged~and…"

Next thing he knew, Kelell's beak was held shut firmly by the hand of his Boss, preventing him from saying even a word more. Surprised by this the crow looked at his wizard questioningly. Zak's other hand was massaging his temple, looking at his familiar with annoyance.

"How many times do I have to tell you that your voice is annoying when you begin to ramble?" He asked trough gritted teeth. "Now take a deep breath, count to ten and start over, this time slowly. Better yet, give me a sit-rep on how heavily the lab was trashed."

Kelell tried to answer, but as his beak was still firmly placed in his Boss' hand he merely flapped his wings in confirmation. After Zak released him from his hold Kelell took the promised deep breath, counted to ten (loudly, to Zak's ever growing frustration) and began his tale.

It took the avian a few moments to complete his story, which consisted of him having near-death experiences for what felt like hours, in which the inside of Zak's bag (which by the way was a powerful magical object, housing a whole sub-dimension in which the drow created his wandering laboratory) was basically pretending to be a digestive system with all the peristalsis-like movements the walls were doing and trying to crush him under random furniture. Of course the Spellsword knew perfectly well that his familiar was exaggerating, but he also knew that trying to stop him would be futile. So he endured it, tried to make any sense of his rambling and keep his sanity at the same time. In the end, Kelell finally calmed down, only to look at the ground in a defeated manner.

"What are you doing?" Zak questioned, looking at the crow with a raised eyebrow yet again. His familiar on the other hand lowered his head even more.

"I'm waiting for the scolding." He answered with a resigned sigh. "I messed something up and now I'm waiting for the scolding."

"OK now,_ this_ is getting more bizarre by the minute." The drow concluded, looking at the crow like he just grew a second head. "You're acting all submissive and stuff… that's not normal at all. And why for the love of Sune would I be angry at you? You didn't do anything, it was I who got caught by that bastard of a skull and sent here and it's my fault that the lab got damaged." Hearing this the black bird looked hopefully at his master.

"Really?" He asked, and after getting a nod in confirmation he cawed loudly in triumph, flapping his wings in a show of relief. Only after a moment or two had he calmed down enough for Zak to be able to talk to him.

"You done now?" Kelell nodded in response. "Good. Now can we get to the more important bit, like _what exactly got damaged_ during all this jazz with changing planes?"

Most of the new enthusiasm that Kelell showed just a moment ago evaporated, changing the cheerful crow into a solemn-looking one.

"Well…" He began, his voice showing uncertainty. "You see Boss… I don't have a report ready, there's much I don't actually know about. But I'll do my best!" He added hurriedly after seeing the look in Zak's eyes.

"I'm waiting. And try to be professional, just this once."

"OK, so… Chambers from A to F –minor damage: cracked walls and ceilings, overturned furniture, one or two broken cabinets. Chamber G and its content seemed to be intact. Chambers from H to K –medium damage: cracked walls and missing parts of the ceilings, damaged and broken furniture; storeroom J is inaccessible, but it seems that the content is largely intact. Chamber L is blocked, so I can't give a full report on that. Bookshelves are largely smashed to bits and pieces, but the books are in good condition from what I've seen. Chambers M, N and O suffered heavy damage –partitioning walls collapsed, content burned or soaked wet, ceiling partially collapsed… A void field appeared in chamber N, but it's been contained and atmospheric losses are at a minimum. Chamber P suffered minor damage –cracked walls and floor. Unfortunately the storerooms cabinet fell and its content broke and spilled on the ground. It's quite fortunate that it didn't react to violently when mixed with one another. Chambers Q and R are heavily damaged –the floor disappeared and a stable vertical void wall replaced it. Also any and all furniture fell into the void, so we lost a bit of equipment. Chambers S and T are intact. Chambers from U to W –medium damage: cracked and partially collapsed walls, destroyed furniture, damaged equipment. Chamber X is inaccessible due to the lock being stuck, so I have no clue what's the damage in there. Chamber Y –minor damage: cracks in the ceiling and on the floor, overturned furniture. Chamber Z is intact. Also hallways from #1 to #5 are largely intact and #6 to #12 suffered only minor damage; all hallways are passable."

Kelell all but began panting after finishing his report, as he tried to convey as much information as quickly as possible while still being understandable. He looked at his Boss, who seemed to have a faraway look in his eyes, like he was thinking intensely about something. Worried by his wizards actions, or rather the lack of them, Kelell decided to check on him by pecking on his finger. This brought him somewhat back to reality.

"Note to self: design and place two new runes on the lab-sack." He muttered while rubbing his pecked finger. "First one: protective –against hazards caused by forceful changing planes. Second one: informative –about the damage dealt to the lab." After that he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "So we lost all our potions and wands in one single go?" Feeling that it was a question directed at him Kelell decided to nod in confirmation. This left Zak nothing else to do besides… "Aw shit…" …muttering that.

"Believe me Boss, I said the exact same thing." The crow familiar added, hoping for his master to cheer up. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough, as the frown on his face was still the same.

"I appreciate your effort, but I'm not in the mood right now." Zak's voice said it all. He was borderline furious, only through sheer willpower was he able to contain his rage. He took a few deep, calming breaths and looked again at the bearer of bad news which happened to be his only friend. "Any estimations on how extensive was the overall damage dealt to the lab?" He asked.

Kelell didn't like the way this was going, not one bit. His Boss, barely controlling his anger, his eyes almost burning with the white-blue flames of his special ability… He wanted to crawl under a rock and die. His wizard was just too scary at times. Alas, he could not do something like this, so he steeled himself and answered, his caws sounding a bit more… squeaky.

"I'm not quite sure, but… um… I would say about… em… somewhere between… um…"

"Kelell…"

"All right, all right! It's somewhere between twelve and fifteen percent. Ya happy now?!"

The look on his face was all the answer the crow needed. His Boss was very _un_happy. To be quite frank, Kelell didn't blame him for that. If he was informed that his home was basically trashed like that he would be furious too. Still, why did he need to show his emotions on his face like that? He was spooked by him as it was.

"Twelve to fifteen percent?" Zak repeated slowly, his voice trembling with anger. "You mean to tell me that the lab-sack will be shut off for the next four to five months? That we'll won't have access to most of our recourses for close to a hundred and thirty five days?"

"Y-Yes." Kelell managed to squeak out. His drow partner looked like he was going to explode, his face getting redder by the second. Finally, he snapped.

"I am going to find my way back there, find his phylactery and send it to the Elemental Plane of Earth trough an unstable portal, all the while crushing his bony face with a vice… slowly. And when I'm done with him, I'll resurrect him and do it again… and again… and again…"

"Um… Boss?"

"Yes, Kelell?" An unnerving smile adorned Zak's face while he looked at the crow. The familiar gulped.

"Calm down, your freaking me out. Furthermore, your freaking _them _out." He gestured with his wing in the direction of the desk with the two local human wizards. Zak looked in their direction and noticed their still dazed expressions, although they were whispering between themselves and looking at him cautiously, like they weren't sure if he would attack them or not. The drow quickly cached up to that and went through a series of calming techniques.

"Right, find a way back and a way to become drow again first, then plan revenge." He muttered to himself and looked at Kelell. "Sorry 'bout that."

"No problem. I'm quite angry myself at that… "bony bastard" you said?" The crow responded helpfully. It was also truthful, he was rather furious at the thing that not only tried to kill him (indirectly, but still), but made his wizard angry. And the fact that their nest was out of commission was just an added bonus.

The thing with the lab-sack was that it was a cross between a bag of holding and a portal leading to a sub-dimension, kind of like a portable hole. It was fragile as it was, any and all physical damage made to the bag in the material plane would result in serious damage made to the inside. And the fact that it handled crossing planes rather poorly was an added hazard in its handling. It was a miracle in itself that the sack didn't implode when the demilich tossed Zak trough that portal. And Kelell knew that perfectly well.

He saw firsthand, or rather first-wing what happened to the lab, and it was by no means pretty. The fact that there were breaches in reality inside the bag was a problem in itself. It meant that the enchantments placed on the item were slowly falling apart, and if the plane-switch took even a moment longer than it did, it would probably lead to total collapse of the sub-dimension. The stable, localized 'wall' of the void –the nondescript space between planes, even the astral plane –was a dangerous occurrence, that in larger quantities could be possibly lethal. Falling in it meant falling for the rest of eternity in a place, where there was nothing, not even air to breath. But the unstable sphere of the void, oh, that was just plane nasty. Where the wall was nothing more than a "portal" to the void, a two sided one but not hazardous in itself, not if passed, then the sphere was a rip in reality. It sucked everything it could in itself: air, physical objects, even spells. It could not be controlled, hardly even contained, and getting rid of it was a tricky endeavor. Fortunately, the sack was designed to fight the effects of something like this.

The bag had a self-repair function, that was powerful enough to handle everything less than 90% destruction of the item itself. It could repair almost everything, from surface scratches to near total destruction, and something as trivial (for the sack) as getting rid of the void was child's play. It couldn't however replace completely destroyed objects, especially magical items, but still –it was almost unbelievable what the sack could repair. Unfortunately, this repair level had one major downside. It took time. And lots of it. For every percent of damage taken it took almost ten days for the bag to repair it. Ten days during which no one could get inside the bag, not if they were inside it the moment damage occurred. One could argue that it wasn't such a long time, considering that if something like this happened in the material plane then it would take even longer to fix it, but for someone stranded in an alien and potentially dangerous place it was more or less undesired. And Kelell, and in extension his Boss were in such a predicament.

"You know Kelell, I think that I ignored those two long enough." The voice of his wizard brought the crow familiar from his musings. The avian looked at the drow questioningly, and then shot a glance at the two sitting at the desk.

"They want something from you?" He asked, looking at them intently, like if he could guess what they were thinking by staring at them.

"Yes, in point of fact." Zak shot his familiar a crooked grin. "Ol' Silverbeard over there wants to speak with me, I dunno 'bout what. Guess I'll have to find out what's this all about."

"Ya sure do, Boss. And remember, if bad comes to worse, I'll be right here, ready to scratch their eyes out."

"Don't joke around like that." Zak playfully scolded his feathered friend. "It might come just to that."

* * *

><p>Dumbledore was trying –and failing miserably –to wrap his head around what he just witnessed. His guest, the self-proclaimed drow wizard who apparently was also an enchanter of great power just held a conversation in what seemed like the language of crows with a bird that flew out of a bag. A bag that apparently held some sort of stone object, probably a granite-carved dungeon-like accommodation if he had to guess. What's more, the bird seamed to show emotions. Real, human emotions. It was by far the strangest thing he seen in his life, and he saw his fallen student, young Tom Riddle talking with snakes, so that was saying something. The reptile at least was more or less indifferent while it "talked", not like this bird, this… <em>Kelell <em>if his old ears didn't deceive him.

He shot a glance at his companion and decided that he wasn't the only one surprised at seeing all this. Minerva McGonagall looked like she wanted to jump out of the window, just to get out of there. The bad image that Voldemort created for Perselmouths was strongly rooted in the subconscious minds of the wizards and witches of this time, and seeing anything resembling that particular talent was viewed as a sign of the dark arts. Dumbledore himself knew better than to believe in something as ridiculous as that, but he couldn't just tell someone to see things his way. He firmly believed that everyone should gather wisdom from experience, and what better way to come to terms with based opinions on something than experience it firsthand? He at least hoped that this white necromancer type of wizard didn't in fact mean that he was using dark arts not designed to kill but to maim.

It seemed that their guest had ended his talk with his feathered companion, as he turned to face them with a slight frown on his face. He seemed not to pleased with what he heard from his avian friend, but didn't seem to want to begin any type of conversation himself. It fell up to Dumbledore to start the interlocution.

"It is quite a talent you got there, Mr. Vicloth." He began with the most recent development that occupied his mind. "That was the first time I have seen someone speaking to a bird. Talking with snakes I have seen, but not with birds, crow or otherwise."

Dumbledore had noticed, that his guest was looking at him with a knowing gleam in his eye. Had he known already about Tom? No, it was probably something else. Maybe he guessed that talking to any kind of animal was uncommon in this world and this just confirmed it for him? Judging from the expressions on their faces from not too long ago, it was probably safe to say it was the latter.

"So speaking with crows is unknown and speaking with snakes isn't?" Zak asked, rising an eyebrow, his voice clearly amused. "Where's the logic in that?"

"It's just that there is no records on anyone being capable of speaking with any type of avian." The Headmaster replied. "Even Perselmouths are extremely rare. The last known one was a warlock called Lord Voldemort."

As expected, once he uttered the name, his companion flinched visibly with uncontrolled fear. And, as expected, Zak didn't even react to the name, clearly not knowing about whom was he talking about. And by the looks of it, he wasn't even interested, if his bored expression was anything to go by.

"Lord Voldemort, eh?" The Spellsword rolled his eyes, like if the name was more amusing to him than anything else and completely ignoring McGonagall's second flinch. "Should of known that would be an universal constant in the multiverse. Every gods-damn self proclaimed dark lord has a cocky name. Why there's no, I don't know, Tim the Destroyer or some other normal sounding warlord?"

"I gather that you have experience with dark wizards?" Dumbledore asked in a polite manner. In response he got a shake of the head from his guest.

"Like you'll never believe." He muttered with annoyance. „Khrel-Ithyr is only just the tip of the iceberg. Zuldankun of the Seven Serpents; Seerex the Spider Disciple; Lady Yerendara, crest Thunderbarer; family Bregon, leaders of the Tears of Selûne syndicate… the list goes on and on." Zak counted down the names, each of them uttering with more annoyance and more hate than the former. It was clear that he really had bad memories regarding every one of them, not to mention that it only proved his theory of an universal constant regarding names used by "dark lords". He however quickly wiped the sour expression from his face and looked at Dumbledore with expectation. "Enough of that though; you wanted to speak with me about something that, and I quote: "will be beneficial to the both of us". So, I'm waiting. What's this mutually beneficial something?"

Dumbledore for his part looked a bit taken aback with the sudden change of topic, but for his defense he recovered quickly. He _had _wanted to talk with this unbelievably extraordinary individual, and the only reason he didn't do it up until now was the fact that he was so full of surprises, that he couldn't get his thoughts straight. Now however a golden opportunity presented itself, and he was going to use it to its fullest. Taking a deep breath and steeling his face, his warm, grandfatherly smile in place, he cleared his trough.

"Yes, of course. I did in fact want to discuss some things with you, Mr. Vicloth, things that I for one believe are vital if you are going to stay in our world for any period of time. I wanted also to extend an offer of assistance in regards of both getting your original physical form back and finding a way back to your homeworld."

The look the Headmaster received in return was a mix between a suspicious glare, a surprised look and a unbelieving frown. It was hard to say what was Zak actually thinking about, and the fact that his Legilimency was almost useless against the brain of his guest made it even more difficult. One thing was for sure –he didn't expect this kind of offer.

The Headmaster noticed also from the corner of his eye that Minerva looked mildly shocked at this bit of news. She probably didn't understand why in the name of heavens was her employer trying to help someone like their drow guest. To be perfectly honest, Dumbledore didn't blame her for this one bit. If he was in her shoes, figuratively speaking of course, he would be very much surprised himself. There were however things that she didn't know and he suspected, that made all this trouble worth it.

"I have a hard time believing that you can help me, Mr. Dumbledore." Finally a response came from the drow, but it wasn't what the aged wizard was expecting. "For starters: up until I mentioned other planes and described some of them you clearly didn't have the slightest idea of what I was talking about. That leads me to believe, that plenar magic is largely unknown in this world, and in extension leads to the conclusion, that any help in that regard would be more like me giving you information, that although useful for you and your society will be by no means helpful in my endeavor to get back to Toril."

Dumbledore didn't show it, but he knew that he was just outmaneuvered in less than a minute, at least when it came to his helpfulness in one of the two major issues the drow was having. He really believed that one such as he would gladly take up any help, with being stranded on an alien world and all, and while accepting it he would share his wisdom with him, maybe giving the magical world an edge that it was looking for over half a century now. He didn't however take into account that Zak might have been distrustful like the rest of his race, for he didn't have any experience with Svartalfs up until today. Still, he kept his smile in its place, trying to look like nothing happened.

And then Zak decided to continue.

"As for me getting back my real body, I must say: maybe. For now I do not have any ideas as to how to counter Khrel-Ithyr's magic, so any help in that regard may prove useful. Still, I am curious: the way you work your magic. By wands…"

"What about them?" For the first time from the moment they entered Dumbledore's office McGonagall decided to take an active part of the conversation. The Headmaster looked at her with a slightly arched eyebrow, wondering why did he feel a level of protectiveness from her words. Was it the fact, that she was in the presence of someone, that defied the laws of magic by working it in a way unseen before, without the use of any outside help that made her nervous?

He looked at the whitehead, waiting for a response from him. Zak for his part smirked hearing the question, clearly enjoying the fact that he apparently made the witch nervous. He was going to reply her, when his crow decided to caw loudly from Fawkes' porch, bringing Zak's attention to him. After a moment in which the black bird apparently discussed something with the wizard-turned-child, the said drow looked a bit sheepish and rubbed his stomach, looking in the meantime at Dumbledore.

"I know this is kind of sudden, but… can we get something to eat? I didn't have anything in my mouth for days, and this annoying ball of feathers cant's seem to go on without food for more than a few hour… ouch!" He was interrupted by his familiar's beak pecking on his hand. Apparently the bird didn't appreciate the description his wizard gave him. Still, in response to his request and the antics of the two Dumbledore could only smile.

"Of course." Was the only thing he said and with a flick of his wand he conjured up a tray filled with sandwiches. "I'm afraid that is all we have right now, and I must apologize in advance: we do not have any type of mushrooms in the castle right now, at least no edible ones."

"That's alright, I don't like them anyway." The drow replied, grabbing one of the sandwiches and beginning stuffing his face with it. In the meantime he put aside some of them and gestured at his crow, who apparently understood him and flew up to the desk, landing on it and beginning to eat himself. "Ya know, being almost eaten by carnivore fungi makes one think twice before eating mushrooms himself." He added between bites.

"Carnivore fungi?" McGonagall asked, rising an eyebrow.

"Shrikes. Used by noble drow families as sentries and a first line of defense. They're almost as big as humans and they emit a "shrieking" sound when approached; some species can emit sound waves that can deafen someone or even outright force him into unconsciousness**. In addition, they commonly coexist with violet fungus, a moving, extremely poisonous type of fungi, that actually hunts for their meals. Nasty buggers, and common in the Underdark too."

Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged looks, not sure what to make out of this. Sure, there were extremely dangerous plants and fungi in their world, but not many of them. And they didn't grow the size of men. And didn't shrike. And couldn't move about. At least fungi didn't. Still, they quickly regained their composure and looked intently at Zak, who bit down on another sandwich, watching them all the time, like he was weighing his options. Ultimately he decided that it was high time he answered the transfiguration professor's question.

"From what I've seen so far, you guys do not posses any type of magic that doesn't involve the use of wands, correct?" He looked intently at both McGonagall and Dumbledore. The Headmaster shook his head slightly.

"Not exactly. Most of our magic needs wands as conduits, but there are some skills, that do not need their use. For example potion brewing…"

"That's not exactly magic in the sense I was talking about." Zak interrupted. "I don't know how your kind of potions work, as I didn't have any opportunity to see them in action, but still –it's not what I've meant. By magic I mean spells, charms and curses cast by a single wizard or sorcerer."

"Well, in that regard then yes, you are quite right, we do not have much magic that does not require the use of wands. Few spells can be cast wandless, but not much, and it quickly drains the caster from his power." Dumbledore was about to launch into a detailed lecture about using wandless magic, as he was one of the few that was well versed in the skill, but the rised hand of his guest stopped him before he could get started.

"I understand that wands are in this case essential for a wizard to control arcane powers in this world?" Zak asked, not really expecting any answer. Dumbledore however was a bit baffled by the odd choosing of words to describe magic. Arcane powers? That was the first time he met with that name. His musings were interrupted however by the ever slight shake of the drow's head, that and his pitying look.

"Is something the matter?" Dumbledore asked, curious as to the odd behavior of the drow.

"No, everything's in order." Zak replied, his voice cracking with mirth. "I'm just curious how you guys are able to stand your ground in a fight, with the constant need to hold a wand and all. I'm more than certain that anyone with half a brain would go for the wand first in such a predicament. That's a serious handicap if you ask me."

"So your saying, that…"

"Never mind what I'm saying. It doesn't matter right now." Zak interrupted McGonagall before she could ask her question and looked at Dumbledore again, his expression one of mild interest. "If memory serves me right, you wanted to inform me about something concerning your world, is that right, Mr. Dumbledore?"

"Yes, I do have quite a bit to discuss with you, Mr. Vicloth, and I believe that it is high time that we "get a move on" as the youngsters these days say." The aged wizard replied with a smile, and began the long explanation of the workings of the world that he called home.

As Dumbledore expected, conveying most of the common in his view knowledge about Earth and its working to someone as alien with it as absolutely possible was a tedious endeavor. It was in a way like a combination of the talk, that most, if not every muggleborns went through when they first received their Hogwarts letters, and a shortened version of the first few lessons in muggle studies. That, and a quick skim trough the various subjects of wizard prosecution in the history of the –at least –British Isles. It was even more difficult, because Zak didn't know anything concerning the world he found himself in and needed help in understanding a few of the concepts that were common knowledge in both in the muggle and wizarding parts of society.

The Headmaster wasn't the only one explaining the issues concerning the world they were in. Minerva, after a moment of silently listening in on the explanations her friend was giving decided to add something from herself and she too got involved in the process. Still, she acted warily while talking to the drow, like she was more than a bit frightened of him. Zak however didn't seem to mind her that much, and aside from some sideways glances at her while she was acting too reserved for it to be natural he largely ignored her behavior. Dumbledore guessed, that he was used to this kind of reception and grew accustomed to it, to the point that he could largely ignore it. Truly, if he was capable of doing just that, he might have entered the path to true Occlumency without even knowing it. Remarkable.

What was even more remarkable was the fact, that aside from the occasional question the drow didn't interrupt the explanations at all. Up until now he didn't act like the listening type, being more proactive in his approach and leading the conversations where he wanted them to. This side of him however proved, that he could, if he only wanted to, act like a scholar, gathering as much information as possible before making any statements of his own. That was a trait, that Dumbledore didn't see so much nowadays, especially in one so "young" as the drow. Even if he was over a hundred years old, it was still refreshing to meet someone with an open mind for a change.

Finally, the long explanations drew to an end, several hours worth of almost constant talking taking its toll on the throats of both him and Minerva. From the corner of his eye Dumbledore noticed, that the sun was beginning to drew to the horizon, the sky changing colors from the usual blue towards a vivid orange. Who would have thought that just a couple of days ago he was on his way from this exact office to the kitchens and had the fortune to witness this extraordinaire individuals arrival. That if it wasn't for him he would be right about now bored out of his mind, or better yet still waiting for the answer for his first Hogwarts letter from a young individual with raven-black hair. He shook his head slightly, tossing this thought at the back of his head and once more looked at the now pensive face of the drow guest.

"So let me get this straight." The drow muttered, rubbing his chin slowly in contemplation. "This world is artificially divided between two groups: magic users and non-magicals, known as muggles." It was probably the slight exhaustion getting to him, but Dumbledore could have sworn, that Zak uttered the word _muggle _with distaste, like if the word sounded inappropriate to him. "The former don't know anything about the magical part of the world, and they compensate for the lack of arcane powers by being extremely inventive. This state is in place from over w few hundred years now, and it fit the magic users just fine, furthering the civilizational gap between both groups. To enforce this state of affair contacts between the two worlds are cut down to a minimum, and practicing and/or selling magical services and items to the other world is strictly prohibited, to the point that one can actually go to jail for something like that. Is that right?"

"For the most part, yes." Dumbledore managed to croak out, before he needed to conjure up a glass of water and down it quickly. After that he continued. "I wouldn't however say that we, the wizards of this world, cut ties with our muggle counterparts completely. We try to understand them, some of us are even fascinated by their inventiveness…" The Headmaster trailed of, seeing the scowl on Zak's face. "Is something the matter, Mr. Vicloth?"

"Yeah, you could say that." He muttered dejected. "It's just my stinking luck that I winded up in a world where magic is prosecuted."

That was something, that neither Dumbledore nor McGonagall were expecting. Did this mean, that Zak came from a world, where hiding ones magical talents wasn't required? Was it possible, that he was a native of a world, where wizards could practice at peace? That was a concept, that proved difficult to imagine, especially if you lived in a world where the complete opposite idea of the worldview was a fact. Finally, after a moment of silent wonder Minerva proved to be the first to regain her voice.

"Are you implying, that your muggles know about the existence of magic?" She asked basically what Dumbledore was thinking right now, her voice hoarse like that of the Headmaster himself. In response she received a stiff nod from Zak.

"Yeah, existence of magic is pretty much common knowledge on Toril."

"But what about the innate fear of anything unexplainable? Surely your muggles must feel at least a bit wary of anyone who can cause something they cannot understand."

"I guess there is a few arcanophobists in the civilized parts of Faerûn, but not many. Magic is so common, that most people gotten used to it by now. We sell our talents for coin, sell our products, teach, serve as backup forces in armies, conduct research on matters of common interest, sometimes even advise kings and other rulers. There were even a few magocratic countries in the history of my world, like Netheril for example. A society ruled by archmages, their flying cities were real marvels I heard."

Dumbledore was slowly beginning to notice a pattern in these conversations. Whenever their white haired guest spoke of something regarding his world or his views on magic, both he and his companion were only able to stare at him, mouths agape in wonder. It was probably more annoying than anything else for Zak he mused, seeing that once again he rolled his eyes upon seeing their reaction. Quickly regaining his composure the aged wizard decided to steer the conversation once more to his own homeworld.

"All that is fascinating, Mr. Vicloth, but still –this world had no such luck and we just must keep our existence a secret." He said, and was going to say more, if it wasn't for Zak muttering something under his breath. If his ears weren't deceiving him, it was something in the lines of "figured as much". Shaking his head Dumbledore continued. "As much as it saddens me, I must request that you at least try to refrain from using magic in public, Mr. Vicloth. It could lead to unwanted attention, both from the muggles and Ministry officials."

"The Ministry… You mean the elected rulers of this country's magical part of society?" Zak looked a bit confused for a moment, but quickly regained his composure, remembering what the old wizard had said about it. That didn't however mean, that he fully understood everything. He looked at Dumbledore questioningly. "And why pray tell would the local authorities be after me, hmm? If I'm casting spells in places that aren't public and aren't frequented by muggles than they shouldn't care about it, shouldn't they?"

This was the million galleon question right there. From it depended if the Headmaster's plan would come to fruition, or be just an unsuccessful attempt on his part. Steeling himself for what was about to come, Dumbledore took a deep breath and looked at his drow guest with the utmost attention.

"You, Mr. Vicloth, are –and I am sorry for using this term –considered underage, at least physically wise. What that means is that you are not seventeen years old, and as such considered a minor… I assume your world has a concept of minors?" After Zak nodded in confirmation, although his nod was very stiff, Dumbledore continued. "That means, that according to the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery you are forbidden to use any type of magic outside of specified places, situations, or in the case of an emergency, cast as a self defense measure."

Zak gave him a look, that sent shivers down Dumbledore's spine. It was a mix between an annoyed glare and an angered, pointed look. The aged wizard noticed, that the drow was actually clenching his fists too, and if he wasn't mistaken, his eyes flickered white and blue a couple of times, reminding him of the strange flames that his guest used on Severus. Figuring out that Zak was on the verge of snapping he quickly initiated damage control.

"I am afraid, that there is nothing I can do about the laws: they were placed years ago, and changing them does not lie in my power. However there might be a way to…"

He didn't finish, cut off by Zak slamming his fist on the ancient desk, startling not only Minerva and him, but also his crow companion, who flapped his wings in panic and gotten airborne in a manner of seconds. Getting back to the dark elf however –he stood up, knocking his chair to the ground, his entire body shaking with poorly controlled anger, and pointed his throbbing hand at the Headmaster in an almost threatening manner.

"You mean to tell me…" He began, his voice also shaking with rage. "You mean to tell me, that not only is magic prosecuted here, but _I_, a _Master of the Arcane Arts_ am _forbidden _from using _any kind of magic_, just because of some ridiculous rules? That by using magic _I risk _getting myself into trouble with the local authorities? And what if _I don't give a damn_? What then?"

"Well…" Dumbledore actually had to gulp, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Maybe Zak didn't use any magic this time around, but the fluctuations in his magical aura that the Headmaster was able to sense were giving him the idea, that this Svartalf was way more powerful than most of his enemies, probably as powerful as Tom himself. "You see, Mr. Vicloth… It is entirely possible, that you would get overpowered by a _large_" he stressed the word "group of aurors, that is specialist officers responsible for law enforcing, and taken into custody. There it would be possible that the Ministry officials would actually notice the differences in your "build" so to say, and…"

Zak's glare intensified, making Dumbledore once more shiver from the cold fury in his eyes. He was more used to people trying to mask their emotions or children which carried them on the surface most of the time, but this mixture of anger and sheer power was making even him nervous. The drow in the meantime looked with disgust at the Headmaster, something that he most noticeably reserved only for occasions, that shook him to the core.

"You humans are sick." He hissed out, this time his voice barely above a whisper. "So I'm not one of you, I'm different. That's why you're going to lock me in and study me, like an animal? Or are you going to kill and dissect me? Because I will not stand for any of those possibilities, and if it comes to something like that, I will not hesitate to use lethal force. Even we, drow, aren't as vile as some of you can get."

Once more a chill had run down Dumbledore's spine hearing the drow's declaration. He wasn't surprised that he made it however. He even understood his reasoning (kind of) –he himself would not stand by idly and watch, as someone tries to study him like a lab animal. Still, the conviction that he had in his voice while he said that was unnerving, for both him and Minerva, who looked at the young looking individual with barely canceled fear. Trying to prevent Zak from actually giving her a heart attack the aged wizard spoke up.

"I assure you, Mr. Vicloth, that no one is going to kill and dissect you." He tried pleadingly, trying not to flinch under the Svartalf's stare. "I merely pointed out, that there is a large possibility of you getting caught and found out, that you are not a mere human. That would most probably lead to unpleasantness', and I am sorry to say, but our society is for the most part controlled by old, pureblood families, that tend to be somewhat… racist."

"As most people in a position of power, they're narrow minded fools, probably having control only due to their money and connections." Zak muttered angrily but didn't do much besides that. Dumbledore took that as a good sign and decided to pull his ace from his sleeve.

"As I said before, there is not much we can do about the laws, changing them is not an option, but there might be another way to grant you relative freedom, Mr. Vicloth." The Headmaster smiled reassuringly under his long, slivery beard, hoping for the best.

Zak looked at him with for the most part concealed surprise, and sat down on the chair, that he lifted from the ground with a lazy flick of his hand. Sitting and looking the aged wizard in the eyes, he most probably looked for signs of deception on the old human's part, drumming his fingers on the desk. It was quite remarkable, how fast he could go from being furious to the point of almost shouting to calmly observing and contemplating an indirect offer made by someone.

After a moment Kelell, who circled them for the last few minutes in the air landed on Zak's shoulder and joined his master in his staring competition, creating a mostly surreal effect in Dumbledore's view. Once again he felt like if the bird had more intellect than it should have hade and showed almost human emotion. More even, he decided that the bird was actually not looking at him like its owner, looking for a lie on his part, but more… mockingly, if it was possible for a bird to look like that. Baffled by that the Headmaster blinked a few times and almost missed the drow's answer.

"I must admit, I am… intrigued by your words, Mr. Dumbledore." Was the Svartalf's answer. He still drummed his fingers on the oak desk though, like if he was expecting something. "Please, continue. I wish to hear more."

_"So far so good" _Dumbledore thought, although you couldn't say that by looking on his face, frozen in his reassuring expression. "As of now, you, Mr. Vicloth, are considered an unregistered, underaged potential wizard, like most muggleborn wizards your "age". That means, that the Ministry has still no power over you, and you are free to do as you please. Still, casting spells would be highly discouraged –bringing attention to yourself in this way would be a bad idea." Dumbledore made a small pause there, letting his words sink in. After a few seconds Zak prompted him to continue. "Considering however, that the option of you willingly forgoing any magic for the next seven years is not an option, I have an offer; one, that I believe will suit the both of us."

"Can you _please_ get to the point?" The Spellsword asked exasperated, intensifying the drumming of his fingers. It was painfully obvious that he didn't appreciate beating around the bush, not now at least. Dumbledore, trying to stay on the good side of his guest nodded.

"What I have to say is that your physical body belongs to a child, that should by my estimations be no older than eleven years old. That being said, it is the age in which most young wizards and witches begin their magical education."

Suddenly Zak's face changed into one of understanding. It was clear, that it downed on him what was Dumbledore's plan for him, and how it fit the description of it being "mutually beneficial". The Headmaster smiled seeing his expression, glad that he wasn't required to explain everything in detail for the drow to understand. His throat was killing him as it is, no need to strain it more than it's necessary.

"You want me to pose as a new student." The whitehead stated, looking at Dumbledore both warily and with a bit of new respect. In the mean time however, Minerva almost choked on her own salvia, looking at Dumbledore like he lost his mind. Seeing this the aged Headmaster asked the drow for a moment of patience and beckoned his old time friend to the side, hopefully out of Zak's earshot. Once there he opened his mouth as to say something, but McGonagall beat him to the punch.

"Albus, are you _insane_?" She whispered hoarsely, her throat holding up no better than his own.

"Well, I never claimed to be sane in the first place." He answered with a smile, prompting McGonagall to facepalm. Apparently she wasn't in the mood for jokes.

"Listen Albus, I don't know why are you doing this, and frankly I don't understand why you want to help _him_." She gestured in the direction of the drow who began leaning back in the chair. "What I do know is that what you are trying to do can be _extremely dangerous_. You heard him, you _seen_ him working his magic for god's sake. He doesn't like something, he's going to make it gone, either destroying it or _killing _it. And you want him to stay here? Whit _children_?!"

"Minerva, calm down, please." The Headmaster pleaded. "I assure you that I have thought this trough."

"Not enough you didn't." She answered, giving him a glare, her lips pursed into a thin line. "Your obviously missing the point. The… _Svartalf_… is dangerous. _Dangerous!_ It knows magic that we have problems comprehending. It wields a flaming sword. It…"

"Has a name, and doesn't appreciate being called an 'it'." Came the voice of no other than Zak. Surprised by this sudden development both McGonagall and Dumbledore looked in his direction, their eyebrows raised in surprise. "You're forgetting that I'm an elf. I have a better sense of hearing than the average human." He answered the unasked question, and glared halfheartedly at Minerva, who in turn paled slightly. "I assure you, I have moral standards. I wouldn't rise a hand against a child… well, as long as the child doesn't do anything that could be remotely considered physically threatening against me. I don't plan to get murdered by a child assassin. But besides that, I would never deliberately kill a child."

"You see Minerva, nothing to worry about." Dumbledore smiled at that small declaration made by Zak, however he was a bit concerned about the child-assassin part. Putting that thought at the back of his mind for now he was going to get back to explaining his plan to the drow, but the whitehead's voice cut him off.

"Also, I didn't agree to be put in a foreign school to begin with." His voice was level, however the look he was giving the Headmaster said it all. He was testing him.

"Mr. Vicloth, let us be reasonable." Dumbledore began, a slight tone of panic present in his voice. "That is the best solution we have right now. Either you agree to be placed in Hogwarts as a new student and get yourself a "permission" of sorts to practice magic, or you are risking being found out by the authorities, and we both know what that could mean."

"Still, staying in a school when I could basically be wandering and looking for any possible way to get back my body and to get back to my world, all the while being able to proceed with my experiments seams counterproductive." He answered, ceasing to drum his fingers on the desk and crossing his arms on his chest. "My research could prove to be extremely time-consuming, and considering being in a school implies that I would need to be seen on lectures and the like, not to mention completing assignments placed on my by the local masters, and that would greatly hinder my work. As such, I am willing to take my chances with the authorities: keep a low profile and possibly avoid being found out. That way I would at least have more time."

Dumbledore, for all his vast wisdom couldn't find to many flaws in Zak's reasoning. Many a student had complained about the workload placed on them by teachers, at one point he himself was one, both teacher and complaining student, and being present on lectures, that could for the most part take up even the better part of a day could prove a serious handicap in the eyes of the drow. Still, willingly risking being arrested for "underage" magic was a serious setback, at least from the Headmaster's point of view. It actually seemed like if Zak was deliberately aiming a sort of attack on the government structures, trying to prove that it was flawed in some way. Maybe he wanted to be a fugitive of sorts and prove how a organized force was powerless against him? Did that mean, that they had to deal with an anarchist?

Zak looked at the aged wizard, a slight smirk present on his lips. Dumbledore's confusion seamed to lighten his mood a bit, a thing that the Headmaster was quite quick to take notice of. It was like he was hoping for that reaction, like it was more of a game to him than anything else. Then again, the drow did point out that he could survive a prolonged stay in the wilderness, so the theory that he was more or less bluffing while saying he was going to spend his time "lying low" was unlikely. Did that mean, that he had a different reason for apparently declining Dumbledore's offer? Without his Legilimency the Headmaster had a hard time figuring him out. And it was going to be times like this when he regretted not learning more mundane methods of "reading" a person.

"I urge you to reconsider, Mr. Vicloth." Dumbledore finally stated, regaining as much composure as possible. He once again sat down at his desk, accompanied by Minerva, who was looking at the drow with a mixture of relief and silent curiosity (and a bit of apprehension) and touched the tips of his fingers together, trying to calm his thoughts and concentrate. "There is much you can lose if you get couth, especially time, that –like you said –is for you of the essence. In fact, it would be much more time than if you stayed here, at Hogwarts. Also, our school, as you probably guessed, is a boarding school, which means, that we are more than capable of providing you free shelter and food supplies."

"That's not much." Zak replied, shrugging slightly. "A place to stay and some food… While it's a nice gesture and all, I am more than capable of taking care of both of these things. I can conjure up an impressive, neigh indestructible interdimensional manor-like object in which I can spend my time, and as for food –I'll hunt, it's no big deal to me. And if bad comes to wore, I could try conjuring up something edible. Not my strong side, but I'm decent at it."

"And what with your research?" The aged wizard asked, but he couldn't keep the surprise at hearing about conjuring up food from his voice (it was one thing using a spell to summon already existing food, but creating it from thin air? It broke one of the most fundamental laws of magic). "I am sure that you can look out for yourself just fine, but finding food will, again, take up precious time you could use for your research. What's more, here, in Hogwarts, the largest collection of books in magical Britain is placed, a collection in which you could find some interesting information that could prove helpful in your endeavors."

"You mean in a way like you are helpful for me with researching a way to get back to my home plane?" Zak asked with an arched eyebrow, sarcasm clearly heard in his voice.

"Well, maybe not helpful concerning _that_ particular problem, but I am more than sure that you will find our knowledge about transmutations and shapeshifting more than satisfactory." He replied, quickly salvaging the situation. "Human-animal transformations, appearance changing spells, both cosmetic and complex shape-shifting… the list is long I must say."

"That actually sounds remotely useful." The drow muttered, scratching his chin in thought. Seeing an opportunity, Dumbledore followed up with another offer.

"While you are staying in Hogwarts, we could arrange a workplace for you, as I am certain that you will need somewhere to conduct your research at. We can provide you with any equipment you can think of, and…"

"Sorry, but I doubt the last part." Zak interrupted him, however he still was in a thinking pose and for the most part didn't look at the aged wizard. "You probably won't have the instruments I require, like the Weave-Tread Separator or Grandier-Boht's Universal Alchemical Accelerator. Some basic equipment maybe, but not the advanced stuff, as that requires the practical use of the theory of the Weave, which I am certain isn't even in the early concept stage of this world."

"Still, I believe that it beats working in the wilderness." Dumbledore pressed on, sure that the drow would see the logic in his reasoning. "Even if we are not able to provide you with advanced magical equipment, we can help in setting you up with the basics, so undervalued these days, and knowledge that could be useful for you, especially in conjunction with your vast knowledge."

"Stroking my ego, eh?" Zak smirked and looked at Dumbledore in amusement. "If you were a young, long-legged dryad then who knows, I might have fallen for that. As it is however, I really must ask you to stop that. It's making me uncomfortable, and makes you look like a lickspittle… no offense."

"None taken." The Headmaster replied, smiling slightly despite himself. As much as the predicament he found himself in was beginning to frustrate him, and his inability to convince the drow to his point of view made him nervous, this one jab was enough to lighten his mood. It was so rare to find someone with a sense of humor these days, especially intelligent people.

"As for your… offer…" The drow again was all business. It was almost as if Albus was talking with a mirror image of himself, the least the way he changed subjects. "I'll say… yes. After consideration I think I will take you up on your offer, Mr. Dumbledore."

He blinked a few times, making an interesting impersonation of an owl. The aged wizard wasn't expecting something like that. Just moments ago it seemed like if his guest was adamant on leaving Hogwarts as soon as possible. His sudden declaration of accepting the offer took Dumbledore completely off guard.

Not only the Headmaster was surprised. Minerva looked like she had swallowed a shot of vinegar. Up until now all seemed to indicate, that he was going to refuse Dumbledore's offer, to which she was very grateful. She had no intentions to stay in one place with a being, that not only acted extremely strange and was able to probably a killer, if his moves with his sword were any indication, but was also able to use magic without the use of wands. And that frightened her. Now however, after the sudden decision that he was going to actually stay here as a "student" the situation was getting all but terrible. Sigh… she hated being right like that.

Back to Dumbledore –the aged wizard was about to proclaim his victory with a grateful "splendid!", when he noticed Zak's rised hand passing right before his eyes a few times. Again blinking, this time from the sudden close movement the Headmaster withdrew a bit in his chair. This brought a new smirk on the drow's face.

"Don't try to freeze on me again, Mr. Dumbledore. One time was enough." He laughed slightly, returning to his chair and leaning in it, arms again crossed on his chest. "As I said, I am willing to take you up on your offer, but I do have some demands of my own, if all this is going to work out."

"That's… understandable I think." He replied slowly. His surprise at getting the drow to agree was slowly wearing off, as well as his moment of victory when a thought struck him. It was not over yet, Zak could still withdraw from this agreement and walk away, just like that. What's more, there was no telling what he was going to request from him in exchange for his stay here. It could be anything…

"I'm happy to hear we have an agreement." Once more the drow brought the elderly wizard out of his musings. "Now, to the matter at hand: first off, and I am adamant on this one, is that the workplace I will be given meets the following requirements…"

Something told Dumbledore, that he just walked straight into really vile smelling dungbomb.

* * *

><p>Almost an hour passed since Zak began listing his requirements and other conditions from which depended if he was going to stay in Hogwarts. To be frank however, they weren't exactly rock-solid demands, that he was adamant on being granted, more like requests that if they were fulfilled, they would be enough to begin recreating at least a part of his lost possessions. If they were granted to him than great. If not… well, he could live with that. Not that Dumbledore needed to know that.<p>

The drow used every ounce of his bargaining skills during this little haggle, every trick he learned while dealing with big-time merchants, hired swords, shady shopkeepers and outright black-market thugs. He knew, that starting high had its perks, so he did request some things that were outright strange, not to mention costly, and if he saw that he was going nowhere with it he lowered slightly his offer, until he gotten a satisfactory response. Sometimes he actually used it as a bluff, as to soften the old wizard up before making a seemingly random but not costly request, prompting him to agree without thinking. Other times he deliberately started low, gradually working his way up with additional things until he sensed that he was close to the breaking point and backing out. Never had he used the same techniques twice in a row, and he tried to stay as random at it as possible, both keeping his hopeful benefactor from figuring him out and getting the best offers in trough sheer confusion on Dumbledore's part. For the most part it paid off. For the most part…

There were some incidents that left him silently fuming, things that he didn't manage to acquire via his negotiations with the Wizard of Eye-Twinkle. The most noticeable one was his inability to convince them (seeing that this whole McGonagall woman was probably the right-hand woman around here) to supply him with human, or at least humanoid thigh bones. It shouldn't be that surprising, really –he himself said, that he knew a bit about necromancy, and considering the bad reputation the art had with common folk it was no surprise they looked at him warily. He tried to reason with them: that he isn't going to use them to rise skeletons or the like, nor did he wished them to acquire them in large numbers and fresh, settling for older bones and even donations, but sadly, he didn't have much luck. They weren't going to budge even an inch in that. So, with a heavy sigh, Zak was forced to accept on bones gained from cattle. Well, the bones themselves weren't bad per se, at least as a material for wand-making, but humanoid thigh bones were so much better…

There were a few more mishaps like that, some of them actual fails on the drow's part, some of them simply impossible to acquire in this world. All in all, it wasn't that much of a setback as the drow initially suspected. Aside from some exotic materials and more advanced equipment he was able to convince Dumbledore to set up a workplace slash temporary laboratory in which he could commence some basic experiments, at least until his lab-sack was repaired.

After the long and tiresome negotiations were finished the aged wizard requested the stranded drow to sign a paper, that was, as he put it, essential in his placement in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (the name did bring a patronizing smile on Zak's face once he heard it). Normally, as Dumbledore explained to him, twinkling eyes and all that, students were chosen to attend the school by the level of magic that flowed within them and was measured at birth by healers, or, in muggleborn students cases, from observations of effects created by, what he called it, "accidental magic". As for Zak, he wasn't a native and as such no one could tell how magical he was beforehand, so he used the second best option the Headmaster had. A request form for an exchange student.

It was a slowly dying process, not many foreign student attending Hogwarts these days. Most countries were now capable of providing magical education for their youths, and the few that didn't in the last century, like Ireland, had for some reasons chosen other courtiers as their preferred study destinations. Zak guessed, that it could have something to do with the reputation of this place or political reasons, but as he wasn't a native he couldn't in all honesty answer that.

There was also another reason why exchange students became so scarce over the years. Apparently Hogwarts needed (as weird as it sounded, almost like if the castle was alive) to "have a look" at the magical aura of a person to produce a Hogwarts letter, basically an acceptance letter which any and all students needed to receive and at least skim over. And to do that with someone with which's aura it's not acquaintanced (via blood relatives or information provided by the Ministry) it needs a sample of magic. Preferably contained in blood.

It was a weird process in Zak's eyes. Dumbledore first of all gotten a form, an old one at that, from a seemingly unopened for years upon years cabinet. The slightly crumpled and dusty piece of parchment contained rows upon rows of strange symbols, letters as he guessed. After looking at it for a moment his amulet kicked in and provided him with knowledge of what every of these symbols meant, giving him the knowledge about how he should read them, and if need be write them. As long as he would have his pendant on his neck, he was going to be able to understand it no problem. So, having acquired the skill of reading in this strange language he began reading it thoroughly, looking for something that could be used against him. He wasn't one for signing written contracts so his apprehension was something natural for him, but every time he actually did signed something, he made sure to both check if it wasn't written in a way that made him get the proverbial shorter end of the stick, and –if everything seemed alright –stick to the agreement. It wasn't actually his honor that dictated this behavior, but rather his illogical fear of the Inevitables.

Having read trough the form and finding nothing that could be used against him the drow looked warily at Dumbledore. He didn't know why, but even after reading trough that document he felt a bit apprehensive. It probably had something to do with the way the old wizard was acting, all cheerful and helpful, if not a bit weird at times. Being used to ridicule at every step meeting with someone that didn't judge you at face value was rather confusing and hard to get used to. But still, there was something else that made him nervous, not that he showed it. Only problem was, he couldn't quite place it.

When Dumbledore, after seeing Zak finished with reading the form explained to him, what was required he was going to suggest using a Blood Quill, a magical type of quill that enabled a person to write using his own blood as ink without the need to actually draw it. However, once the words that the drow's lifeblood was needed were uttered, the said drow reached for the closest writing instrument and bit the thumb of his left hand, drawing the crimson liquid, and had already dipped the writing end of the quill in it. Deciding that it was no use telling him to stop now, the Headmaster looked in silence alongside his by now really freaked out deputy as the Svartalf signed his full name in the designated place.

The old magic placed on the parchment came to life with a show of soft, blue light, easily visible in the now darkening inside of the aged wizard's office. Zak, who wasn't expecting something like that raised an eyebrow in silent surprise and looked expectantly at the Headmaster. Chuckling to himself slightly he assured the drow, that all was in order and that the parchment just worked its magic, conserving his magical signature on its surface so that Hogwarts could generate his letter. Slightly calmer Zak nodded in understanding and asked what was next.

There was only one thing left to do regarding the drow's entrance. With a soft smile hidden behind his beard Dumbledore asked Minerva, if she could go and check if everything was in order with Zak's admission. Still wary and not sure if it was wise to keep someone like the drow in the school but more freaked out by actually staying in his presence for too long she gladly welcomed an excuse to leave his presence, and with one last look at Zak and (hopefully not) Dumbledore she left the office, leaving the two men alone.

The aged wizard looked at his guest in silence for a few minutes, observing as he whistled a short tune almost inaudibly while looking at his wounded thumb. To the surprise of the silver-bearded man, the finger shone for a moment with pale white light, almost blinding in the slowly creeping darkness, and after a moment disappeared, leaving newly healed tissue in its wake. A bit mesmerized at seeing a healing spell working in such a manner, Dumbledore missed the moment when Zak stood from his chair and began pacing slowly, like a few hours or so ago, once again trying to get used to his new body form.

It was almost surprising how quickly was the drow able to grasp the basics of his new shape. Not so long ago he all but stumbled around, incapable of normal walking. Now he almost didn't trip, and although his speed left much to be desired, as he most probably needed to think about what he was doing before he did it, it was a huge improvement. Dumbledore suspected, that it could have something to do with his sword, as he seemed to regain his grace and elegance of movements once he unsheathed it, and began faltering once he put it away.

Speaking of the blade, the old wizard wad a serious problem brewing for him. He easily noticed, that Zak was very protective of his sword, the fact that he basically knew that it was unsheathed and that he reacted rather poorly once he was sure of it was proof enough. That being said, Dumbledore couldn't just let him walk around carrying this weapon in the open. For starters –it would bring to much attention to him. A child, walking around with a sword? The Ministry was bound to take notice of something like that. Moreover, this kind of blade was forbidden in muggle Britain from what he remembered. How was it called again? A katana? No, it wouldn't do if he walked around with something like that. The problem was however, that the Svartalf would probably be reluctant to part with his possessions, any of them.

Unbeknown to Dumbledore, Zak was thinking along similar lines. He gathered, that being a kid implied, that he wasn't capable of using weapons. So, to keep up the guise of an eleven year old he should somehow get rid of Dragontongue, at least temporarily. If his lab-sack was fully functional he wouldn't have this problem –he would just go down there and store it in one of his storerooms, preferably in chamber A –his private armory. However with the recent developments he could cross that out, not to mention that he really didn't fancy walking around with the lab-sack while it was out of commission –it would only anger him if he did take it with him. And unfortunately his backpack, which worked in a way similar to a bag of holding had a limitation on how big the objects stored within it could be placed. As it was, his weapon was slightly to long to fit in.

Frowning a bit while wandering around Dumbledore's study, Zak concluded, that the only possibility of storing his sword sat by the claw-legged desk. It wasn't ideal, and he had his doubts regarding the old human, but what choice did he really have? Risk being uncovered by those "aurors" or whatever they were called? Like he wanted to tangle with them right now. He had enough problems as it was. The only thing that comforted the silver haired castaway was the fact, that this place seemed to be rather peaceful, at least if you believed in Dumbledore's assurances. He could take care of himself without his blade just fine. So, with a heavy heart and knowing, that it was going to be the last time he sees his pride and joy for more than a couple of months at the very least, he approached the aged Headmaster with this small problem.

To say Ol' Silverbeard was surprised was the underestimation of the year. Here he was, devising a plan, a way to approach the foreign wizard and not aggravate him, and as it turned out, it was all unnecessary. Not only did Zak approach him of his own volition just in that regard, but he also asked, if he could leave one of his bags, the one with that weird staircase in it. It was way more than Dumbledore could ever dream of. If he done everything right and was cautious enough, he could probably even take another look on the enchantments and try to understand their workings! He wasn't this giddy in many a year.

There was also another "problem" that needed to be taken care of. Both Zak and Dumbledore were sure, that if the drow was to keep up his front as a kid, he needed some kind of back-story, a cover if you will, that would explain both his sudden appearance in the magical (and non-magical) world, but also his lack of grasp of the basics of both worlds. As it already was, his story couldn't get out into the public, for it would bring unwanted attention towards him, attention that would probably lead him to an extended stay in the Department of Mysteries. Zak also couldn't devise his cover on his own, for he didn't know anything about the world he found himself in. So, with the help of Dumbledore, they forged Zak a cover, that he was going to use from now on.

While devising the cover story, Zak requested some things to be left as they were, including his name. That wasn't that much of a problem, for his name, as odd as it been, was well within the limits of what wizards of the old days used. Add to that the fact, that thanks to Dumbledore's help it was decided, that Zak was going to pass as a former citizen of Norway (which was the closest they could get in Europe in regards to an actual North), his name began to be less and less conspicuous. That also was the second part of his new cover –his former citizenship. As a young wizard of foreign descent, no one was able to track his story down, not in magical Britain at least. The governments of magical nations rarely shared information on their own compatriots, even if it was in regards of ones that decided to migrate to new lands. As it was, it made for an excellent cover story, one, that the Ministry would have problems in confirming or disproving.

There were also some minor details, like the fact that Zak was adamant on being called an "Ilythiiri" –the name of his race in his own language –and keeping his underground upbringing (as pun-ny as it sounded) as a fact. The first one Dumbledore was easy to understand: the Svartalf wanted some kind of connection to his real form, as to not go completely insane with being basically a prisoner in his own body. The second one however… The Headmaster tried to reason with him, explain, that this bit of information would sound suspicious, but the drow remained steadfast in his decision. He explained, that yes, it was true, he would get some weird looks for it and maybe even bring some unwanted attention towards himself, but he was willing to take the risk. As he reasoned, he needed to somehow be able to explain the differences in his appearance towards other students, and he was sure they were bound to question just that, and his ability to see in the dark. Not that he wanted to brag about that to everyone, but if the need arose, he wanted to be able to explain it. So, after a few minutes it was decided, that Zak was going to represent a long separated branch of humankind, people, who once were living on the surface of the world but went for some reason underground, literally, and stayed there for so long, that their decadents evolved, to accommodate to living in a dark place like the Underdark (Zak was adamant on keeping the name as it was –less confusion on his part). It wasn't the best explanation, nor would it prevent people from looking at him strangely, but it was the only way the drow would have had it.

Hopefully, the Ministry would buy it.

There wasn't much to discuss after that. Zak, armed with a cover story and with more than half of his gear safely (hopefully) tucked away was theoretically ready for anything this strange new world could trow at him. Only thing left was for him to get the Hogwarts letter, a formality really, and set off to get his "school supplies" so to say, and that meant waiting for McGonagall to get back from the Quill Room with his letter. They didn't have to wait long, as the transmutation professor arrived just moments after they finished with the cover story.

The look Minerva gave the two occupants of the room was inscrutable. One could say it was a mix between relief –a clear sign that she was thankful to whatever deity was looking after her principal, and a well concealed layer of anxiety that the drow couldn't quite place. It was clear that it wasn't anything concerning him, as her look would in such a case reveal also a tang of fright directed at him, an emotion he gotten used to seeing on her face. The fact that she was also holding not one but two parchment envelopes was also a dead giveaway.

"Dumbledore." She announced with a slight tremble in her voice, again –not with any type of fear but "normal" anxiety. "We may have a problem."

The aged wizard raised an eyebrow and beckoned his subordinate to continue, inviting her in the same time into his study. The witch complied, albeit still a bit wary of the other occupant of the room, and approached the bearded individual. After he prompted her to share her thoughts she slowly continued.

"You see, once I acquired Mr. Vicloth's letter… by the way, here it is…" She passed one of the envelopes to the drow, who in turn with a bored expression took it and glazed trough the address, rising his eyebrow at seeing the "Headmaster's Office" bit written on it "…I decided to check up on the responses from new students. Apparently, Mr. Potter still hadn't sent his own answer, and the address I found on the latest envelope made me a bit worried about his welfare. Besides, it's best if you see for yourself." And she passed the second envelope to her employer.

Dumbledore gazed trough his half-moon spectacles at the piece of parchment and the twinkle in his eyes quickly lost its power, glazing over with worry. What he seen here was really disturbing, and possibly implied something, that he wished wasn't true. Placing the envelope on his desk he entwined his fingers and began murmuring to himself in deep thought. From time to time he shot quick glances in Zak's direction, like if he was trying to decide something, and furrowed his brows even harder, as if the action itself would help him come to a decision quicker.

Zak for his part wasn't sure what was going on, but frankly –it didn't interest him in the slightest. That is it wouldn't, if he didn't catch the bearded human looking at him time and again with those damn blue eyes. It wouldn't concern him that much, if not for the fact, that it was the first time he had seen the wizard with eyes so normal, so… devoid of their usual twinkle. He wasn't sure now if he preferred him with the sparkle in his orbs or not, but one thing was for sure –the oddity itself was enough to warrant his attention and for the letter he was going to unseal to lay all but forgotten on the desktop.

After a minute or two Dumbledore finally came to a conclusion. He cleared his trough, gaining the full attention of his employee, who was shooting wary glances in the direction of his drow guest, and stated:

"I feared it would come to something like this." He sighed, as if it wasn't apparent enough that he was saddened by what he learned. "Minerva, would you be as kind as to send Hagrid this way?"

"Hagrid, sir?" She asked a bit taken aback.

"Yes, Hagrid." Dumbledore nodded slowly, still partially in thought. "I talked to him a couple of days ago and informed him, that it may come to something like this. Also, I wanted him to carry out an… errand for me while he collects our stray student."

"Albus, are you absolutely sure you want to send Hagrid with something as important as…" She cut herself off once she remembered, that they weren't the only ones in the room. She shot a glance at Zak, who seemed to be more interested in examining his crow's feathers, and cleared her own throat before continuing. "I mean there are people more suitable to carry out something like that."

"I know Minerva, I know." The aged wizard replied, still deep in thought. "However you do know, that I would trust Hagrid with my own life, and simply collecting something for me along with checking up on young Harry is well in his capabilities. I'm more than certain he will manage."

McGonagall didn't look particularly convinced by this statement, but decided to keep her thoughts to herself. Besides, it was Dumbledore she was talking to, if he decided to do something his way, there was nothing that would stop him from doing just that. That, and usually he was right, at least most of the time. So, with a sigh of defeat and yet another wary glance in Zak's direction the Transfigurations mistress went in search of Hagrid, once again leaving Dumbledore and Zak alone.

"Trouble in Arvandor?" The drow asked once McGonagall left the room, a slight smirk on his face. In response Dumbledore sighed, nodding at what he thought was a changed version a commonly known phrase.

"It appears a new student of mine has difficulties with receiving or responding to his Hogwarts letter. Fortunately, I was prepared for something like that and I already took some measures into solving this slight problem." After that Dumbledore grew silent for a moment, looking out the window at the slowly darkening sky. "Night is coming."

"Aye, that it is." The drow responded, also looking through the window. Once Dumbledore took a look at him he noticed, that the Svartalf was genuinely smiling, for the first time they entered his office. "A beauty of a night I might add. Do you have a moon in this world?" The question took the Headmaster by surprise, but he quickly recovered.

"Yes, we have a moon. Why do you ask?"

"No reason." Zak replied, although his smile grew even wider. "Usstan brorn vel'bol ol loren saph. Usstan kestal ol zhah iz' ssin'urn 'zil a delmah."

"What was that?"

"Oh, nothing… just wondering something, nothing to be worried about." The drow replied, looking once more at Dumbledore's wrinkled face. He noticed with no problems the thoughtful frown adoring his visage, a clear sign that he was considering asking him something, that if the dark elf was to guess would concern him and probably his expedition for his "school supplies", by the way a strange thing he couldn't just get the items right here. And if his luck up until now was to serve as an indication, he was probably going to be roped into the whole mess with this "stray student", what's his face… Harry Potter? Yep, it was definitely that, no denying it.

Zak sighed and looked like he was going to say something, but in the end he stayed silent, once again gazing at the slowly creeping night out the window. He was probably overreacting, the stress of the last few days still taking their toll on him. Besides, was it such a big problem, that he was going to make a great fuss about it? He needed to stay true to his ruse, and what other way to accomplish just that if not by making some acquaintances amongst the future students alongside which he was going to stay? And who knew, maybe the boy would prove to be a distraction for his darker thoughts. Gods knew that he needed a distraction.

Finally, after a few minutes spent in silence the door to the study shook violently in a manner that could be called knocking, if the one knocking was a complete drunk or a giant not aware of his own strength. Zak, surprised at the sudden noise almost immediately found himself standing at his now even less imposing stature and silently preparing to cast a protective spell on himself. However once he heard the good natured chuckle coming from Dumbledore he relaxed a bit, letting his hands rest along his sides. Moments later the Headmaster invited the one that was apparently trying to get inside with a gentle "come in".

Nothing could prepare the drow for what he was about to see. He knew that now, after he was changed into a human (round ears –ugh!) child he was way smaller than he was used to, but even so the… _man _in front of him was enormous! By his quick estimation it seemed that Dumbledore's guest was almost ten feet tall, and with a physique that most half-orcs would die for. He was a mountain of a man, covered with muscles that made one wonder how much strength could one single being posses. But what really drew the drow's attention was his face.

Zak had seen many humans of many positions, from simple farmhands to nobles of high caliber and from wizened scholars to men of the wild, but never have he seen someone like this. The man had a wild, almost primal look to his face, his dark hair and his beard tangled and clearly not kept in any semblance of order only reinforcing the savage visage. Yet his dark, beady eyes held no maliciousness to them, shining in the dim light of the setting sun with both mirth and a sort of wisdom one gets not from studying, but from personal experience. The eyes of this man were probably the only thing that enabled the Spellsword to properly guess, that the giant before him was smiling a good natured smile under his unruly beard, easing him and making him relax.

"Ah, Hagrid, good of you to come so quickly!" The voice of the Headmaster brought Zak back to reality. So this was the Hagrid fellow that he presumably was going to go alongside to find the Potter boy. Interesting.

The giant now identified as Hagrid beamed at the mention of his name and entered the study, his way to large for it to be normal body standing out like a sore thumb in the well organized office. He spared a passing glance at the drow, who for him must have looked like nothing more than a thin, diminutive child with a weird hair color, and looked at the Headmaster with the utmost attention.

"Yeh called, Professor, so I've come a' soon as I could." Answered the Hagrid fellow, his voice heavily laced with some kind of accent that Zak for obvious reasons couldn't place. "Its 'bout Harry, innit? Yeh want me ter give him his letter an' take 'im to Diagon Alley?"

"Yes, we already discussed that last time we talked, and considering that the need unfortunately arose I see no other way." Dumbledore replied, nodding slightly at the giant. "However some… unexpected occurrences forced me to slightly change the plan."

"Sumthin happened, Professor?" Asked the giant, concern creeping into his voice. "But it ain't anything with Harry, innit?"

"No, no, I assure you Hagrid, Harry's alright." The aged wizard tried to calm his enormous guest down, which seemed to work, as the agitated look in the giant's eyes seemed to all but disappear. "No, the issue at hand has nothing to do with our dear Harry. In fact, the "issue", as inelegant as it sounds, sits right here with us."

Zak wasn't surprised in the slightest by that, so the only thing he did was shoot a passing glance at the Headmaster and focus his attention on the man known as Hagrid. The giant however was more than surprised and regarded the whitehead like if he saw him for the first time. His dark eyes, so similar to two shining beetles fell on him and he apparently began studying him with the utmost attention, as if he tried to burn his image into his memory. Finally, after what seemed like a good five minutes of staring the giant grunted slightly and placed a smile on his face, at least Zak thought so, and extended his tremendous hand to a hand shake.

"Didn' see yer there." He chuckled. "I'm Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper o' Keys an' Grounds at Hogwarts, but yer can call me Hagrid."

"Zak'Talqosee Vicloth, but simply Zak will do." The drow replied and grabbed the giant's hand in a shake. Well, it would be called a shake, if not for the simple fact that the drow was almost certain that Hagrid in his enthusiasm had accidentally dislocated his arm. Rubbing his sore arm he looked at Dumbledore. "Am I to guess, that you want me to go with Hagrid here to this… Diagon Alley, Professor?" He added the honorific quickly, remembering that he should act as a new student.

"Yes, precisely." The aged wizard agreed, nodding his head and looking at Hagrid. "Zak here is new, both in Hogwarts and in magical Britain. It's a long story and I am more than sure, that he will gladly share it with you on your way. That is, if you are willing to take him with you of course. I can arrange for someone else to…"

"Nah, you don' have to look fer anyone, Professor. I'll be glad to take Zak here with me, it's no problem fer me." The giant answered, waving Dumbledore's offer of. Next thing Zak knew, Hagrid placed his hand on his arm with enough force to make him almost fall on his face. Not sure what to do, the drow looked at the Headmaster, who only chuckled and shook his head slightly in amusement, prompting the dark elf to growl in annoyance under his breath.

"That is great news!" Finally Dumbledore exclaimed, after which he handed Hagrid the envelope addressed to Harry. "Now, I want you to take this letter and deliver it directly to Harry, no matter the opposition you will meet. You'll find the address on the envelope, I'm sure you will manage to find your way there. And as for you, Mr. Vicloth" At this Zak ceased his growling and looked at the elderly wizard with a raised eyebrow. "Do please remember what we talked about and try to act accordingly. Also, as we discussed already, you're expenses will be covered by the school fund, so you need not to concern yourself with anything. I do believe that is all…"

"And what with my accommodation, sir?" Zak asked before Dumbledore was able to bid them farewell. At first the wizened man looked a bit surprised, but after a moment his face lighted up with a smile, the twinkling in his eyes returning with full force.

"I will look into the meter, try to figure something out. If I find anything suitable I will contact you." Zak wasn't sure what kind of place would the wizard before him consider appropriate for him, nor how he would be able to contact him, but he let it slide for the moment. Right now it wasn't the most important thing in the multiverse. "Now then, with that being taken care of, I do believe that you need to find and deliver that letter to someone, Hagrid."

"Yes, o' course. Goodnigh' Professor!" Hagrid announced loudly, gently (only for him) nudging Zak in the direction of the door. After the drow stumbled for a second he regained his balance, bid farewell to the wizard who decided to help him for reasons the dark elf couldn't phantom, and called his familiar to him, which the crow did, landing on his left arm and incidentally bringing a smile on Hagrid's face. Something told the giant, that he was going to like this kid.

Dumbledore waited for the duo plus a crow to exit his office, and just to be on the safe side he waited a couple more seconds for them to descend down the spiral staircase. Once he was sure the Svartalf was out of earshot the elder wizard let out a sigh, rubbing his blue eyes under his spectacles and standing from his desk.

He approached the window through which both he and his exotic guest were looking just a couple of minutes ago, and gazed at the darkening school grounds, especially at the looming Dark Forest, now looking the part thanks to the shadows the ancient trees were casting upon one another. The view had a calming effect on the Headmaster, not as strong as a cup of hot chocolate, but sufficient enough right now. He really needed to gather his thoughts after all he had learned today.

He never would have expected, that something like this would ever happen to him, not after he basically lived a century and change. All was supposed to be behind him now, nothing to shocking were to happen now. At least not for the next few years he had left. However the appearance of Zak, a being of extraplenar descent, and all the new and exciting information and magic he brought with himself, now _that _turned the world upside down for him, and made life once more worth to live. But it also could mean one more thing.

Another of Sybill's prophecies could possibly come to fulfillment. If only he could find the other three…

And so, Albus Dumbledore, known as the brightest wizard of his century drifted into deep thought, not noticing a small figure creeping out of his office on its eight hairy legs.

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><p><strong>*Drowish for "Offer you can't refuse"<strong>

****Technically, Shrikes are incapable of any of those things beside shrieking, but consider these mentioned here advanced ones or new species of these fungi**


	4. Halisstrsd d'lil to'ryl solen

**Um… Hey, 'sup. (Flinches while receiving several angry glares) Yes, yes, I know. It was ages from the last time I uploaded anything. Frankly, I don't have any fancy explanation as to why it took so long. Writers block? Too much stuff going on at the same time? Looking around after work? I myself blame the Internet. (Why you steal so much time?!) Either way, I'm back, and I'll try to step up a notch, but no promises –I'm terrible at that.**

**Now I would like to thank everyone that took their time to view my little project –I really appreciate each and every one of you guys. Thanks to you guys, this story reached the 1k mark (actually over 1.6k at the moment I'm writing this, but that's beside the point). For me, it's a real milestone I've reached. Thank you.**

**For this chapter I would like to point out one important issue: Harry Potter and his personality. As this is fan fiction (well duh) I do not need to stick to cannon that much, so I figured, that I may add some changes to his character. They're not that big, just enough to make him a bit different from the canon one, so once you get to his part, you'll be prepared.**

**Now, the next bit of the author's note is a response to a semi-anonymous review I received. As it was written in Polish, I'll answer it in kind, so feel free to skip the part written in italics.**

_**Do "zawisza": Po pierwsze –miło mi, że rodacy także podjęli się przeczytania mojego małego projektu. Wcale bym się nie obraził za więcej komentarzy napisanych w naszym rodzimym języku ;) Odnośnie samego komentarza: po powtórnym przeczytaniu rozdziału muszę się z Tobą zgodzić –mogłem to najprawdopodobniej rozwiązać w lepszy sposób. Sprawdzanie ekwipunku w sytuacji w jakiej Zak się znalazł zdecydowanie było dziwnym posunięciem. Inna sprawa, że nikt poza nim nie rozumiał, co mu jego kruk wykrakał, więc teoretycznie ryzyko wykrycia czegoś istotnego przez potencjalnych wrogów było znikome. Tak czy inaczej –dzięki za wskazanie tegoż problemu, na przyszłość postaram się unikać takich bubli.**_

**Now, having that out of the way, I'll let you guys to the chapter proper. And just as a side note –I know it's shorter than the two previous ones. I played with the idea of making it longer, but decided, that it would just be artificial expanding the word count at this point. I wish you a good read and hope you find this installment up to your expectations.**

**Eagle White**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I do not own anything that may be remotely considered a property of anyone else. The Harry Potter series, the Forgotten Realms setting, Neverwinter Nights and Dungeons&amp;Dragons are all owned be their respective owners.<strong>

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><p><em><strong>Natha keeshe lu' natha khaliizi<strong>_

_**Chapter Four**_

_**Halisstrsd d'lil to'ryl solen***_

Once Zak exited the Headmaster's office along with his fatherly companion and the giant of a man that was apparently working for Dumbledore, he allowed himself to let out a quiet sigh. He didn't have any idea what he had gotten himself into right now, nor did he know what to expect from the world he found himself in, but of one thing he was certain: he was going to miss his beloved blade. To think that he practically released it out of his own free will, just to appear more convincing to the locals. He had half the mind to barge right back in to the study and reclaim his possession, just so it could be placed somewhere the silver-bearded man known as the local Headmaster couldn't get his wrinkled old hands on it. Who knew what inept types of experiments he was going to conduct on them? Who knew if he even was going to get it back in one piece? For all Zak knew, Dumbledore could botch something up to such an extent, that he doubted if his study OR the tower the study was placed in would survive.

Well, he was probably overreacting a bit. True, the old man did rub him the wrong way, the fact that he was so willing to help him after he heard what Zak really was, which by the way unnerved him greatly, was proof enough. Still, it could just as well be how Dumbledore was normally acting. He seen people acting like that before, gullible to an unhealthy extent, and let's face it: Zak really was lucky to end up with someone, who was willing to help him despite his origins. Besides, he had bigger problems right now than the old wizard, and one of them was called Hagrid.

The giant, as giants generally do, was way higher than the stranded drow was (he already suspected, that the man was at least ten feet tall). That unfortunately meant, that he naturally took longer steps than the Ilythiiri could, and seeing as Hagrid's legs were almost as long as Zak was tall right now… well, suffice to say that the drow had serious problems with keeping up with him. Add to that Hagrid's eagerness to finally get going and deliver that acceptance letter and it was pretty obvious that the whitehead was slowly being left behind.

Zak still suffered the side-effects of being forcefully changed into a child. Although his "training" (if one can call walking around someone's study as that) paid off and he more or less could walk just fine unaided, jogging behind a hurrying giant was out of the question. Fortunately, Zak's familiar, Kelell, had seen that his Boss had a bit of a problem with keeping up with Hagrid, so he decided to take matters into his own talons. With a few mighty flaps of his black wings he closed the distance between Zak and the giant he was now trying to follow, and landed on his right shoulder, which went completely unnoticed by the man. Rolling his beady eyes the crow did the only thing he could think of to gain his attention.

He began pecking at Hagrid's ear.

Kelell's plan worked splendidly as Hagrid let out a startled cry and jumped a bit, instinctively looking in the direction the sensation came from. Once his small, beetle-like eyes fell upon the black avian, the crow cawed a loud "aren't you forgetting something?", which he wouldn't have the slightest idea what it was all about if it wasn't for the bird's outstretched wing, pointing in the direction of his master. Figuring out what it meant the giant of a man looked in the direction Kelell was pointing at, and seeing Zak lagging behind waited for him to catch up. Satisfied with his work, the bird flew back to his Boss and perched himself on his shoulder.

"Zak, innit?" Once the aforementioned drow came into regular speaking distance Hagrid spoke to him with his booming voice. Looking at him questioningly Zak nodded, indicating he was listening. "Why are yeh laggin' behind? We have serious Hogwarts business to attend to."

Zak had to force himself not to roll his eyes at that. Trying to stay as calm as he could and reminding himself, that this here fellow was the first local that didn't know about his outwardly origins he looked at the savage yet calming face of the giant.

"I know, I know… It's just that the magic that brought me here did a number on me and I still have some slight problems with moving around." He finally answered, trying to sound casually. By the intrigued look in Hagrid's eyes he guessed, that the man picked up on the "magic bringing him here" part.

"Yeh came 'ere by magic?"

"Yeah, funny story actually… Got lobbed out of a fireplace I was, hit the floor pretty hard too. But don't ask me how all that happened, I still don't know myself."

"Yeah… yeah, alright." The giant looked a tad bit confused, but didn't say anything. "So yeh have problems with walkin'? Can't say I blame yeh, if I tried ter use the Floo Network, I probably woulda' land face first in so' embers myself."

Zak was about to ask what did the giant had in mind with that Floo Network thing, but thought better of it. He definitely didn't want to get overwhelmed with information right about now, while he still had problems with coming to terms with all that was happening around him. Not to mention that he suspected, that Hagrid wasn't the greatest source of knowledge he could find. Not to say that the local groundkeeper was dumb in any way, it was just that he would explain things how he understood them, and that could (and most probably would) end up giving life to more questions that it had answers. Not to mention that he did believe, that Dumbledore used that term already, and told him to use that explanation if asked about the way he got to the castle in the first place.

Hagrid was leading Zak and his black-feathered familiar trough the tower at a slower pace than just moments ago. The giant, once reminded that his companion wasn't able to keep up with him adjusted, if barely. Zak still needed to strain himself to walk anywhere near as fast as the big guy, stumbling on his feet and earning concerned looks from Hagrid, but at least he didn't have to worry about getting lost. Plus, as Zak reasoned, what better way to get used to his new body than by using it extensively and pushing it to its limits, right?

During their trek through the old fortress turned school, Zak got a bit of a tour of the castle, bringing him some answers about a few important things he needed to know about this world. Hogwarts, a place filled with magic like no other in the United Kingdom, was a grand example of how the local wizards were using the gifts of the Art, giving the drow a pretty good idea what to expect from them. Moving paintings, moving stairways, illusionary doors and phony steps, suits of armor that he could swore moved slightly, floating candles in a great, long room they passed by the end of their trip… The drow, taught in the school of conserving spells until they were really needed had a nasty case of teeth grinding, seeing all those flashy displays of magic that were just that: flashy, with no apparent reasoning behind them. It was so like human apprentices of his world, the ones, that were just taught their first spell ever and were using it for virtually everything, from writing silly messages on the mud to cleaning the dishes. No thought behind their magic, no reasoning, just flashy displays of power, however small it was.

Once again he found himself criticizing the wizards of this world without getting to know their end of the story. He began to feel a bit unsettled by this. Normally he wasn't such a dick, even inside his own head. To even think in such a way about people he didn't knew the first thing about? It was like if the years spent in Menzoberranzan and the indoctrination of the Spider Queen was beginning to win over his once firm decision to live like the Moon Maiden wanted them to: with an open mind. It was like if he suddenly became a magical racist, a nationalist in the ways of magic: making fun about the locals just because their magic was different.

First he needed to know if the magic of this world really was weaker than his. Then he could make fun of it.

Walking in Hagrid's shadow, deep in thought and slowly building up self-disgust, Zak almost missed the fact, that the three of them have finally left the stone corridors of the castle and walked onto the soft, green grass of Hogwarts grounds. Startled by this revelation, the Ilythiiri took a look around, taking in the sights. Lush, green fields; a lake in the distance, its waters reflecting the last of the setting sun's rays; a weird, wooden structure some ways away from them, sporting large tapestries in a multitude of colors and with decorative representations of a badger, lion, snake and an eagle, all that circling what appeared to be six golden poles, their tops formed into some kind of hoops; all that, and the drow was sure more, presented itself rather… peaceful. Zak didn't notice that until right now, wallowing in both self-pity and despair, but this place, this… Hogwarts… It actually didn't seem half that bad. That is sure, the way that the castle itself was built made him cringe, seeing openings for all sorts of attacks even with his amateurish when it came to siege tactics eyes, but it at least blended well with its surroundings, making for an extremely fairy-tailish scenery. It may have not been that useful, but it at least presented itself like a piece of art.

Then, suddenly, as if someone cast a spell on him the drow's eyes began to hurt, as if someone decided to gouge his eyes out with a glowing-hot poker. He stumbled a bit, letting out a pained cry, and his hands flew right to his face, as to protect him from the world. Hagrid stopped dead in his tracks, surprised and a bit scared by this sudden outburst, and could only watch helplessly, as Zak was moaning, rubbing his eyes with his hands to ease the pain.

A minute went by, and the head-splitting pain in Zak's eyes subsided somewhat. He was more than sure, that tears of pain were threatening to leak out of his orbs, but he wasn't concerned about them. What really was concerning for him was the fact, that only just now, after this sudden attack his eyes began to feel… normal. He haven't noticed that before, but now it was clear as day –for the whole time something from his eyes was missing. Something, that he grew so used to, that he thought it natural. To check his theory he dried his eyes with his sleeve and took a look at the castle once more.

At first everything seemed normal to him, the walls of the school growing more and more gray as the sun was hiding behind the horizon. Nothing looked out of place, until something caught Zak's eye. It was a small, blue light; from where the drow was standing, it looked similar to a firefly. Moments later however, from where the tiny speck of blue was placed, countless lines emerged, all of them blue and all of them not ticker than a human hair. The sheer number of these lines was making the drow's head spin, and the fact, that they circled one another, criss-crossed at odd angles and began to fill the whole bulk of the fortress wasn't helping much. He felt a headache building up at the back of his head, but ignored it in favor of staring slacked-jawed at what his eyes were showing him.

Drow, especially those from the noble houses, had a special penchant towards magic. Their minds were built in such ways, that it helped them in both using raw power by instinct, and learning how to control this power trough studying. The fact, that most of them was also able to create magic-like effects with just the power of their minds was another thing pointing out, that the underground elves were naturally gifted in the field of magic. As for nobles, they had a specific kind of connection to magic, a connection, that many scholars of the surface world were curious as to why only the drow, the worshippers of Lolth had it, and the believers of Mystra didn't. Drow nobles were blessed with the ability to see magical auras.

This specific power wasn't very different from a simple spell, a cantrip really, that allowed the same thing. The drows of the noble houses were normally able to see the workings of magic if they looked at something magic-related. The nature of the things they saw however varied from one Ilythiiri to another. Some of them only seen faint, glowing auras around places with magical properties, magical items and the remnants of magic from spells. Others too have seen slight luminescence in such cases, but the auras themselves normally varied in color, making it easier for the elves to discern which school of magic an aura represented. Then there were those, who in place of an aura seen strange symbols, completely nonsensical in their pseudo-meanings, but working for their users just like the changing color schemes for other drows. And then there was Zak's case: lines. Blue, thin lines, forming a web, like if created by a drunken spider in the middle of a storm. Many thought, that it had a deeper meaning, that the drow that were able to see magic in that fashion were able to see the Weave itself. Zak however was a skeptic, and the lines, while holding some type of meaning to them and helping him identify the kind of magic he was working with, were nothing more to him than just imprints of magic, created by his brain to help coup with the sheer amount of information it was receiving. Which brought Zak back to the here and now.

"_This… is ridiculous." _A thought struck the drow while staring at the glowing, tangled mess of magical lines before him. _"Those patterns, those seams… it's like someone mashed up magic from every school into one messed up knot. Evocation, divination, illusion, transmutation… hells, there even is some necromancy in there. What is this place exactly?"_

Zak stood motionless, his eyes never leaving the tangled mess which represented Hogwarts magical powers. It was beginning to freak Hagrid out, seeing this youngster behave like that just after he screamed bloody murder, like if someone was casting a Cruciatus spell on him. However, not only the giant was worried. Kelell himself was beginning to get nervous. His Boss was behaving strangely, even for him. It was like he had noticed something incredibly interesting and decided to stare at it until he figured out how this thing worked. But he was staring at the castle, at the monument of defense architecture gone horribly wrong. Why?

The black bird decided, that he didn't want to know, and that it was for the best if his Boss got a move on. The Hagrid fellow was beginning to look worried, and the last thing the Boss needed right now, was attracting ill attention. Steeling his resolve, the avian once again today approached a human ear and pecked on it with intent.

"Ouch!" That got Zak's attention. The drow, clearly annoyed shot his familiar a glare. "What's the bright idea?"

"Boss, you were starting to creep us out." Kelell answered in a caw, gesturing with his wing in the general direction of Hagrid. "You stared at the castle like if it suddenly grew another tower. And what was that with that scream? Something the matter?"

"No… just my eyes jump-starting, is all." Zak replied in drowish, after which he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Bloody messed up magic. I think I'll get a migraine from looking at it from out here."

"Zak, yer alright?" Came the unmistakable voice of Hagrid. The giant was looking at the drow with concern, his beetle-black eyes glinting with worry. "Yeh screamed like yer was skinned alive an' then yeh went an yer got all gloss-eyed. Sumthin the matter?"

"Nah, just a… bug in my eye, is all." The drow reassured the gamekeeper, rubbing his eye for emphasis. "And then I just… well… seen Hogwarts from the outside for the first time. It's… kind of impressive looking, you know."

"Yeah, that it is." Hagrid breathed a sigh of relief at hearing Zak's answer, buying it completely. Mentally, the drow patted himself on the back for his quick thinking. That, and thanked his lucky stars that Hagrid wasn't more perceptive. Nonetheless, the giant continued. "Listen, Zak. I kind of need ter go fetch sumting from my home. Yeh don' have a problem if we stop there, right?"

"Sure, no problem." Zak shrugged. "I gather that you live close by?"

"Yeah, jus' over that hill, at the edge o' the Forbidden Forest."

"Forbidden Forest?" The drow blinked bemusedly. Why did he have a feeling, that the childish name was there for a reason?

"Oh, yer need not worry. Name's just fer scaring off firsties. Most creatures that live there are okay, an' the ones that aren't will leave yeh alone if yer with me." Hagrid reassured him, resuming walking in the direction of his hut. Slightly confused and with a sinking suspicion, that the giant was playing down the real threat the forest presented, the drow followed, Kelell still perched on his shoulder.

Seeing, that the hill the giant pointed at was rather large, and getting on the other side of it was going to take some time, Zak let his mind wander towards the weird magical aura Hogwarts was radiating. He needed to somehow piece it all together, as to understand what the hells he actually seen. He knew, that the aura had a bit of every type of magic in it, ranging from evocation and ending on necromancy. He also noticed, that the aura itself was very powerful, borderline artifact-level powerful. One thing however stood in contrast with the latter revelation –for magic so strong and so diverse, it wasn't focused at all. It was like someone had cast spells of epic proportions on a vessel, that wasn't prepared to house it, and to add insult to injury, the one that cast the spells didn't know exactly what he wanted to achieve. It was like today's attempts at recreating the magic that allowed Netheril cities to fly –with no knowledge how to exactly work this power, it was mostly work of chance and blind experimentation. And then there was the issue with the magical aura being visible in the first place.

Normally, magic that allowed to "see magic", and that counted in the drow's special ability, had a few limitations. First of all –distance. The power allowing to see magical auras worked only on a set distance. Things, or parts of thing, that were out of its reach should seem fairly normal, no aura visible whatsoever. Then there was the issue with the power being blocked by certain objects or materials. For instance, a thin sheet of lead could effectively mask any magical aura any object had. Same went for a foot worth's of any type of stone. Here however, Zak was able to see magic that was within the castle, not only on its surface, and to see the magical aura of the whole damn thing. And it didn't make any sense! And if there was one thing that Zak hated, it was a riddle unsolved.

Unfortunately for the drow, his attention has been turned once he and his guide reached the top of the hill. From there, the white-headed drow was able to see a massive piece of forested land, presumably the Forbidden Forest. He saw the forest before of course, looking out the window in Dumbledore's study, but here, from the ground-level it seemed more… intimidating. Large trees, swaying slightly in the near nonexistent wind were rustling quietly, their leaves dancing in the warm air gave off an eerie feeling, that the drow wasn't quite able to pinpoint. The fact, that there was a slight fog visible over the trees in the distance only added to this feeling. It was rather warm outside, so why haven't the fog dissipated by now? Come to think of it, why was it even there in the first place? It's not like fogs were that common in the middle of summer (as Zak was informed was the present season in this part of the world), aside from some places with colder climate. And even considering all the mountains that surrounded this rather large valley, a more delicate and definitely warmer climate should be predominant in this place, the Forbidden Forest included.

Slowly walking down hill towards the edge of the forest, Zak was pondering the said mass of green, scanning it with his keen eyes. He noticed idly, that there was a rather large hut standing only a small distance away from it, presumably Hagrid's home. That was a bit strange –he thought; why would someone, that was as he believed an employee in the magnificent if not un-defendable castle live in a simple man's hut? Surely they could spare a few coins for Hagrid to build something more impressive than a commoner's home. Then again, who knew –maybe the giant preferred it to be as simple as possible, maybe he preferred living a simple life? He sure looked and behaved that way. And then there was the closeness to the forest –Hagrid did struck Zak as a nature's kind of guy. Yes, that must have been it.

"Well now, we're 'ere." Hagrid announced after a few minutes, he and Zak a couple of meters from the hut. "I'll just, yer know, fetch what I need an' be back in a moment. Wait 'ere." And with that he walked over to the door. The drow wasn't paying him much attention though, his mind once again on both the mystery the castle itself presented and the issue with the forest giving of a strange vibe. He was, for the most part, completely obvious to his surroundings, and he was about to pay the price for it.

Zak suddenly felt, that his arm was being released from the talons of his familiar. Kelell for some reason decided, that he was better of airborne, prompting the drow to look after his feathery friend. That in turn proved to be a mistake, for he didn't notice a large black blur approaching him with high speed, at least until it was too late.

The drow was slammed by something large and heavy, momentarily losing his balance and ending out prone on the ground. Dazed by the sudden collision, Zak wasn't prepared to fend off his attacker and ended up getting the brunt of the assault directly to the face. A rather rough object began rubbing itself on his face again and again, covering every inch of his visage with a sticky, slippery substance, and the fact that the owner of this gross object was more or less pinning him to the ground added to his frustration.

Kelell from his post in the air had trouble breathing, cawing loudly and almost convulsing in fits of laughter. This was too much for the poor avian. His Boss, ending up under a large dog that shot out from Hagrid's hut and decided to great the newcomer enthusiastically by licking off his face? Priceless!

"Fang, down boy! Heel!" Came the voice of Hagrid, and the large dog known as Fang reluctantly released his poor victim from his embrace. Getting slowly up from the ground and trying to get the canine's salvia from his face with one hand, Zak glared at his familiar, still laughing at his wizard's expense and muttered 'Xa, jiala ol phor _(Yeah, laugh it up)_' under his breath. After getting that out of his system, the drow looked at his recent assaulter.

Fang turned out to be, as Zak suspected, a great big dog, covered in black fur. As the drow was new in this world, he couldn't be sure what this particular breed was called here, but it had a spitting resemblance to some to the halfling ride dogs of the families living in the far north. From what he could also see, this particular dog seemed to be, for his rather large size (some would even say that Fang was oversized), extremely… lively at the moment. Zak kind of doubted that a being of this size and built would be that active on a regular basis, and that its behavior had something (if not everything) to do with his presence. Fang probably greeted in a similar manner all new guests, or at least that's what the drow thought.

"Sorry 'bout that." Hagrid grumbled, holding his oversized pet by its collar. "I kind o' forgot 'bout Fang 'ere."

"As long as nobody hears about what happened here, I don't terribly mind." Zak responded, still trying to get the dog's salvia off his face. "Don't want others to hear about how I got bested by a dog though. Kind of embarrassing really."

"I see yer point." The giant man nodded, smiling a bit under his beard at how the drow was taking this. He smiled even brighter once the white headed boy approached him and Fang and actually petted the oversized boarhound, which in turn made Fang joyfully bark at him and once again try to lick his face. Seeing that it was safe to presume that Zak would be able to get along with his dog, Hagrid let go of Fang's collar and went inside his hut in search of the mysterious item he needed to collect.

Zak for his part wasn't exactly sure what to make of the dog he was now facing. Fang acted like a young, joyful pup should have acted, which contrasted strongly with the way he looked. It was bizarre to say the least. It got even stranger once Kelell decided that he had enough of flying overhead his master and once again perched himself on his Boss' shoulder. Fang, as soon as he noticed the black bird sitting on the drow ceased to jump and looked at it with a tilted head, clearly confused by the sudden appearance of the avian. That lasted for maybe whole five seconds, after which he began to bark at Kelell in a playful manner, probably seeing a potential playmate in the crow. And as the drow's familiar wasn't one for sitting dully and waiting, he greeted the prospect of having fun and began to caw at the oversized boarhound from his perch, teasing the dog. All that was left for Zak to do was groan inwardly at Kelell's antics. Leave it to him to turn him into a glorified barking pole.

After a few moments Hagrid came out of his hut, a long, black cloak fashioned from the skins of various small woodland creatures on his back. Zak automatically noticed, that the piece of clothing was literally covered in various sized pockets, clearly visible as well as partially hidden. One could even think that it was of drow making, the number of pockets clearly reflecting the love of his species towards hiding things in their clothes. That is if it didn't cover up that much of the wearer's figure of course. The second thing that the Ilythiiri noticed was a seemingly random piece of equipment, especially in the hands of someone as fierce looking as Hagrid.

A bright pink umbrella.

Zak needed to make a double take at seeing this. He knew of course what umbrellas were, seeing them before, especially in the hands of gnomes from Lantan, but to see one as oddly colored as this one was unexpected. Add to that the fact, that the umbrella in question was emitting a small, almost too faint to register magical aura and you have yourself another mystery that Zak and his unquenched thirst for knowledge needed to solve. But still… a pink magical umbrella in the hands of a giant, wild-looking man? Who would have thought of that.

Hagrid with his booming voice called his faithful canine companion to him, and proceeded to lock him inside his hut. After that, with an exited look in his small, black eyes he mentioned Zak to follow him and proceeded to walk into the shadows of the Forbidden Forest. A bit reluctant to enter a place emanating an aura as strange as the one he felt from these woods, the drow followed him, one of his hands instinctively reaching into his pouch with spell components.

He wasn't sure why they needed to enter the Forbidden Forest in the first place. He doubted that whoever this "Mr. Potter" was lived here. It wouldn't have any sense to send a letter to him if that was the case, and it would be much simpler to deliver one if they were adamant on preserving the form. So, with that option crossed out, Zak came to the conclusion, that there was something in this forest that would bring them to the receiver of this Hogwarts letter. _"A portal or some other means of transportation?"_ –he wondered. It could be virtually anything, the possibilities when it comes to magical transport were limitless, as he was a living testament of that.

During their trek through the woods Zak was subjugated to the full power of the Forbidden Forest's strange and unsettling aura. Racking his brain in search of a similar situation he found himself in, or at least a story he heard about something like this, he remembered only one such experience. It wasn't him that was subject to such a feeling; it was a story he heard once from a bard in Port Llast. The story was about a great hero of the city of Neverwinter, the one responsible for finding the cure for the Wailing Death plague and defeating the Ancients before they were able to rise to power. As the story went, between the last war between Neverwinter and Luskan, while the agents of Lord Nasher were seeking the information about the whereabouts of the cult responsible for the plague's spread, the hero investigated the strange events that took place in the Neverwinter Woods. There –as Zak recalled the story –in the depths of the magical forest the protagonist had encountered animals crazed beyond belief and fey creatures warped and aggressive towards both him and the local druids. The story also mentioned a feeling in the air, something along the lines of a constant dread creeping up the spine of anyone close enough to the heart of the woods, a feeling of both apprehension, fear and perversion that one could not comprehend fully. The weirdest part of it however was that although the forest was, in a manner of speaking, cursed back then, places like the unicorn groves and other such locations of immense good still radiated their own auras, that were in turn interwoven with one another, forming places that one could not describe the feelings they given off. And it appeared that the Forbidden Forest was one such place.

Zak normally didn't go into woods if his path didn't lead trough one, only exceptions from that rule being freshly uncovered ruins placed in a forest. His experience with woods was basic at best. Still, he rather quickly noticed, that this particular forest, aside from the strange feeling it gave off was odd. Game trails that he managed to spot indicated animals larger than the average, as well as a surprising number of predators in comparison to the number of potential pray. He also idly noticed more than one silvery wisp of something looking like hair, presumably parts of a unicorn's mane or tail. There was also the feeling of being watched by numerous eyes constantly nagging at the back of his mind, although he couldn't quite place where those looks were coming from. What got his full attention though was the distinct lack of insects and other vermin, with the noticeable exception of arachnids. It was almost as if he traveled back to Menzoberranzan there was so many of them, and just the thought of his place of birth in conjunction with this creepy forest made the hair at the back of his neck stand.

Finally, after what seemed to be hours of wandering around the forest they reached their destination. Hagrid led Zak into a clearing in the woods, a seemingly dead and empty glade that for some reason had a distinct feeling to it, that Zak was able to notice immediately. This place was less "contaminated" than the rest of the forest, it felt less like a dark, brown and green maze and more like a normal forest. Still, why did they have to go through the whole haunted wood to get to a place as empty as this? Well, the reason behind all this appeared in Zak's field of vision after just a few moments and gave him quite the scare.

A slight movement caught the drow's eye. For a moment he stared intently at the edge of the clearing, searching for the source of the disturbance, but he couldn't find anything. However, only after a minute or two he saw it: a creature like nothing he had ever encountered before. The dim lighting in the forest, augmented by the fact that the sun has already set made distinguishing details of the creature's built difficult, but Zak, who lived most of his life in the darkness could at the very least notice some of its features, and it made him shiver. It looked vaguely like a large horse, a large, black, skinny horse. However at the same time it had features that disqualified that possibility. Its head looked like it belonged on a reptile of some sort, covered in something similar to scales and with large fangs jutting out of its maw. However despite having a dragon-like head, the beast clearly had a long, black mane, reaching far to its back. The body of this creature was thin, as already was stated, however the more Zak looked at it, the more it looked like it was unnaturally skinny. He could easily distinguish almost every bone in its body; the creature looked like it was but a skeleton covered in a thin layer of skin. The beast had also two large, leathery wings, similar to those seen on black dragons or desmodu bats. However what really got Zak's attention was the creature's eyes. The white, strongly contrasting with the black creature eyes, looking glazed over and lifeless, unseeing and yet piercing him to his very soul, unthinking yet possessing a strange, savage dose of intelligence.

Zak, for the first time in a long while was truly spooked. This creature, this… _thing… _It was as if he was looking at a beast from hell, like if he suddenly awoke in a world of living dead, where dark necromancy warped every living being and turned a once proud pegasus into a caricature of itself, into an abomination of unspeakable terror. He unknowingly took a step back, his hand rummaging franticly inside the pouch with his material components in search of something that could be used to cast a powerful spell against this beast… and suddenly he stopped. A thought struck his mind, a crazy one at that, but nonetheless he decided to follow through with this idea. His head turned in the direction of his oversized companion and he searched for an explanation in his beard-covered face.

Hagrid was calm. This simple statement echoed in Zak's mind a few times, before the drow was able to comprehend what it meant. The giant that led him here was calm, looking with what appeared to be a small smile playing under his unruly dark beard. The Ilythiiri dared looked again at the weird creature that gave him the scare of the month. Where once stood a single skeletal horse now was a small pack of them. The beasts seemed to walk out of the forest, similar to a herd of deer looking for a new pasture, their heads with those soulless eyes gleaming in the dark and looking at them, unblinking and expressionless. It still creeped him out, but something told Zak, that these creatures weren't there to harm them. That they were simply waiting for something to happen, for them to make the first move. And then, suddenly, Zak heard Hagrid's voice, wonder clearly audible in his words:

"Blimey, Zak… yer… yer can see 'em?"

Zak blinked a few times at the question. What did Hagrid mean by that? The "horses"?

"To be honest, it would be rather hard _not _to see something as… weird… as those things." He finally answered, gesturing slightly with his free hand in the direction of the creatures, assuming that it was what the giant was talking about. "What are those things anyway?"

Hagrid looked genuinely confused at Zak's response, probably still trying to come to terms with how the drow was able to see the creatures, which in turn made Zak suspect that there was something with those horse-things that he didn't know. Still, the giant of a man answered the question to the best of his abilities.

"They're called Thestrals. Dead clever an' useful they are, an' strong too. Normally they're invisible fer the naked eye, but if yer seen someone die yer can see 'em no problem. Err… Mind tellin' me who yeh seen… yeh 'now… die?"

"Sorry, that's private stuff and I'm not comfortable talking about that." Zak replied coldly, making himself clear that he didn't want to talk about it. Hagrid nodded at that in understanding and continued with his explanations.

"Well… erm… where was I… oh yeah! Thestrals have 'mazin' sense o' direction an' can move really fast in the air an' stuff. This lot 'ere I tamed myself. The school uses 'em ter pull carriages fer the most part, an' sometimes Dumbledore himself uses em' fer long journeys."

"So it's safe to assume, that we're going to ride them to wherever we're headed, right?" Zak asked while making a mental note to gather some information on Thestrals on his own. Hagrid may have explained some things, but he rather know those things from a more reliable source. However he relaxed a bit once he heard that these creatures were tamed and even successfully used for simple tasks around the school and pulled his hand out of the pouch with magical material components. Still –a naturally invisible creature that he was able to see just because he witnessed (or was the reason of) someone's death? This was… unique to say the least.

"Yer got tha' righ'." Came the response from Hagrid. Zak for a moment there let his mind wonder, so it took a few seconds for him to understand what the giant has said. Once that however managed to click in his head, he could only groan inwardly. He may have came to terms with the concept of the creature looking the way it looked, but to ride one? This just kept getting better and better. "Now, I'll tell ye how ter mount an' ride one before we…"

"No need, I already rode on a flying steed before, I know what to do." The drow interrupted Hagrid. "I don't suppose that there are any saddles made to fit a Thestral's back, is there?"

"Nah, they don' like dem saddles tha' much." Hagrid replied cheerfully. Zak once again groaned inwardly.

"Bareback it is then." He sighed and approached Hagrid, who in turn was walking slowly (for him anyway) towards the Thestral heard.

The creatures once Zak approached them looked even stranger to the drow. Now, being able to see them in more detail and in turn being certain that all of the blank, featureless eyes of the clearly magical beings were on him, he felt even more uncomfortable. He was sure that all the eyes were on him, that they studied him either because they were unfamiliar with him or because they felt he was different from what they came to know. Either way, Zak steeled himself and strode as confidently as he could behind Hagrid's back.

The giant led him towards two particular Thestrals, not that there was much diversity in the way the creatures all looked. Still, one of those winged, undead-looking horses was clearly larger than the others, and in comparison to Hagrid it almost seemed as if this one was proportional to the giant. Hagrid mentioned something about him being named Tenebrus and being his favorite, both for the rather large size and the fact that he was the first one to be born in the Forbidden Forest, but Zak didn't pay him that much attention, concentrating more on the second Thestral.

This one was clearly younger than the rest, the drow even suspected it was still a foal when compared to the rest of the herd. It was smaller, maybe the size of a normal light horse if not a bit smaller, and definitely looked like a juvenile thanks to the slightly off proportions of its body. Still, it behaved like the rest of its kind –it moved about calmly and dignified, but its blank eyes were peering into his own like if the young Thestral was trying to decide if he was friend or foe and if he should rip him apart with his fangs. A shiver once again run down Zak's spine.

The drow was guessing, that Hagrid led him to these two because they were going to serve them as their steeds, not that he liked the idea of sitting on something so weird-looking in the first place. Sure enough, the giant declared just that after ending his little speech about the two Thestrals (the smaller one was apparently a young colt named Tandar and was the youngest trained Thestral in the herd). Zak sighed, knowing that this would come sooner or later, and approached his assigned mount carefully and cautiously touched its side. To his surprise, he clearly felt a slow but firm pulse and the lungs of the creature taking slow, deep breaths. Apparently, Thestrals only looked dead but in fact were pretty much alive. Still, the strange facture of the skin the creature had was unsettling for the drow, but as Tandar didn't react aggressively to his touch it was safe to assume that he wouldn't attack or otherwise prevent him from mounting him.

Hagrid, who observed all this carefully from where he stood seemed pleased with Zak's progress. He himself noticed, that the Thestrals were acting a bit strangely today, and that they clearly were interested in the white haired kid. Why that was, the giant didn't know, but something in this Zak fellow must have been either completely unknown to them, or on the contrary –familiar with them but lost so long ago, that they couldn't help but stare at him. Add to that Zak's ability to see them and you have yourself something, that even someone so… unobservant as Hagrid had easily noticed. Then again, the kid did appear in Hogwarts in the middle of the summer break completely not knowing where he was, so something like this shouldn't be that much of a surprise. And with that thought in mind Hagrid climbed on his Thestral's back.

For Zak mounting his unusual steed took a bit longer. First off, he needed to somehow transport Kelell. He might have been a really good flier, but something told the drow, that the crow wouldn't be able to keep up with a flying Thestral. Taking that into account, he ordered his familiar to get in his backpack (which earned him a "you have got to be kidding me" look from his feathered friend), and only after that did he even try to get on the winged "horse". That too proved to be a rather tedious task. As Zak was trapped in a kid's body, he was a lot shorter than he normally was, and that meant that getting on the back of something as large as a horse was difficult, and his still recovering dexterity wasn't helping. It took a better part of a minute and a concerned question of if he was alright from Hagrid, but finally the drow was able to get on the back of his steed. It probably had something to do with the Thestral taking pity on him and helping him with his wing, but the main point was that he was up.

It was rather surprising how a creature as strange as a Thestral had such a comfortable back in spite both its odious appearance and strange in the touch skin. One could argue, that these creatures were in some twisted way evolutionary adapted to carrying riders. Zak for his part sure as all Hells was surprised by that revelation, and after he managed to position himself on the back of his magical steed, putting his legs in such a way, that they hanged in front of the Thestral's wings he shot a questioning look at Hagrid. This of course prompted the giant to start their journey, and that consisted of, which was a rather big surprise for the confused drow, taking out the envelope addressed to this Harry Potter fellow and reading out the last part of the address for his Thestral.

"…Rock o' the North Sea." Came the booming voice of Hagrid. And, to the astonishment of his drow companion the Thestral seemed to understand what was desired from him and with a few mighty flaps of his leathery wings he shot off into the air, Hagrid's weight seemingly unnoticeable to the strange creature. Not knowing what else to do and feeling stupid for even thinking about doing it, Zak leaned forward towards the reptile-like head of his Thestral and muttered:

"After him." He didn't have to wait for too long, as his steed seemed to understand him as clearly as his bigger version understood Hagrid and began flapping his own wings, making the drow slightly lose balance and take hold of the Thestral's black mane on instinct. After just a few seconds he too was in the air and shot off after the quickly shrinking dot that was Hagrid. And only after a few minutes did Zak remember something, that made his blood run cold. "Did Hagrid just say 'a rock on the North Sea?'"

* * *

><p>The last few days were the weirdest week in his life, of that one Harry James Potter was certain. Sure, he was used by now to how bizarre the world could be, especially living with the walking zoo that was his aunt and her family, but those letters from that unknown sender topped everything. They turned his life upside down, providing him with his first ever bedroom and were an infinite source of laughing material, the way uncle Vernon and aunt Petunia reacted to them. Still, they were a nuisance to him as well as to the people he unfortunately called "his family", and he used the term loosely. It was their fault that he right now was lying on the hard, wooden floor of this rickety old shack in the middle of nowhere and covered only by a thin blanket after all. And to think that in a few moments he was going to be eleven. Some birthday this was, not that the previous one was that much better. At least he was relatively warm in his cupboard back then.<p>

His musings were interrupted by a weird noise, like if something creaked loudly. A thought that maybe the raging storm outside was beginning to get to the old shack and weakened the wooden hut ran through his head, but he quickly dismissed that. He was many things, but not suicidal. Then again, the noise was followed by a crunching sound, as if the very rock upon which the shack was constructed was beginning to crumble into the sea. This slightly unnerved Harry. What was happening out there?

He decided, that it would be best to at least sit up, so that he would be able to better see what was happening, and in the odd chance that something dangerous actually was going on out there he would be able to get to his feet faster. Once he sat himself up, Harry peered over his pig-like cousin in the direction of the only window in the shack that just so happens was on the wall with the door. For a moment he was almost certain that he saw a figure peering through it with a pair of large, almond-shaped eyes the color of deep purple. That was however only a split second, and as soon as Harry blinked, the figure was gone. He wondered for a moment if his mind was playing tricks on him –he was after all hungry, and he was known for having strange hallucinations on an empty stomach. He decided to disregard what he thought he saw and was going to lay back on his place on the floor and try to get some sleep. That is until a flash of lightning illuminated the outside and he caught from the corner of his eye a large shadow nearing the door.

He sat bolt upright again, his heart pounding like mad. That was no phantom he saw. That was definitely a real, living thing, and it was unmistakably approaching the door. In the haze that was his mind right now a thought struck him –he should probably wake up uncle Vernon, or at least Dudley. Maybe his bully of a cousin was useless for the most part, but he could use him as a distraction in case the thing was hostile. And if he was guessing right, the walrus that was his aunt's husband bought somehow a weapon, or at least he assumed that was in the long, thin package. Maybe, just maybe he would actually be able to use it and take care of whatever was out there.

BOOM.

The sound of pounding came from the door, sounding like if someone was trying to break it down. Harry, his eyes glued to the door was about to get a panic attack; his heart was pounding like it wanted to burst out of his chest and his ears were filled with the sound of his own quickened pulse. He also got a suspicious case of temporal parlays. All in all, not the best course of action in a life-or-death situation.

BOOM.

This one he more felt than heard. The force of this "knock" was enough to make the whole shack shiver and it probably woke up everybody in the building. Dudley jerked awake comically and said something, but Harry was to terrified to understand what he was saying. Seconds later uncle Vernon had shown up in their temporary room, clutching a rifle in his hands. It was clear that he was scared out of his mind too, the fact that in all the confusion he forgotten about turning the weapon's safety off was enough proof. Still, the man gathered what little courage he had and shouted:

"Who's there?! I warn you –I'm armed!"

For a moment only the sounds of the storm raging outside was heard. And then –

SMASH!

The doorframe wasn't able to hold the door any longer and it flown inside with a crash, landing flat on the wooden floor and making a ruckus that was only slightly louder than the deafening roar of the stormy sea and the low grumble of thunder.

Only now was Harry able to discern the features of the "thing" he saw trough the window, and it was in fact a man. The largest, most wild-looking man he had ever seen. Garbed in a long fur coat and with a disheveled black beard and hair he looked like someone more at place in a forest than anywhere near civilization. His eyes however, two gleaming black beetles under his unruly hair gave off a kind gleam which strangely enough calmed the young Potter.

The man squeezed through the empty doorframe, the tip of his head brushing against the shack's roof. Only then did Harry notice, that the colossal figure was followed by another, this time much shorter and thinner one. The most defining features of this person was the white mane that adorned his head and the pair of lilac eyes, eyes, that only after a second did Harry realize he saw just a few moments before. They were peering inside trough the window, this newcomer was the one that he thought he saw.

Harry snapped out of his thoughts once he heard the roaring of the storm outside subside a little. As it turned out, the larger figure reached for the door that it just broke down, picked it up with ease and fitted it back into its frame. It looked almost as if the giant was used to situations like that. Either way the large man turned around, facing the Dursleys, and looked at them with a slightly angry expression.

"Marvelous place yeh picked ter rest, Dursley." He grumbled. "Now make yerself useful an' make us a cup o' tea. It's not been an easy journey…"

"Remind me to never again travel with you." Muttered the white-haired one, wring the water from his hair and leaving a sizable puddle on the wooden floor. It was clear that he was a male, probably a boy around Harry's age, although his accent was strange, like nothing that the young Potter had ever heard.

"Come on, it wasn' that bad." The giant replied, although a bit of sheepishness crept into his rumbling voice.

"There's a bloody storm out there if you haven't noticed." The white-head countered, clearly annoyed. "A. Bloody. STORM! We could have been struck by lightning or swept into the sea or something."

"But we're alright, ain' we?" Came the answer from the man and not waiting for any reply he strode to the recently vacated sofa (Dudley, once he heard the voice of the giant shot of to hide behind his mother) and sat on it. The old piece of furniture sagged under his weight dangerously. And then the giant looked at the young Potter. "An' here's Harry!"

Shocked by the fact that this man knew his name more than by his appearance Harry looked at the giant's face. His fierce visage masked it well, but his eyes were squinted slightly, clearly indicating that the man was smiling. From his peripheral vision the young Potter noticed the white haired youth looking at him with interest, still trying to get the water out of his hair.

"Las' time I saw yeh, yeh was only a baby." The giant said, half-happily half-gloomily. "Yeh look a lot like yer ol' man, but yeh've got yer mom's eyes."

Harry was momentarily stunned. This man apparently knew his parents. This man knew his mom and dad! Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to get something out about them from him. Maybe he would be more helpful than the Dursleys and their "don't ask questions" policy. And speaking of the Dursleys…

"I demand that you and this child leave this building at once!" Uncle Vernon apparently found his voice, and his nerve. He hefted the rifle and aimed roughly in the direction of the giant, the safety however still on. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut yer trap Dursley, no one takes yer seriously anyways." The giant replied and quicker than it seemed possible he reached over the back of the sofa and jerked the weapon out of uncle Vernon's grasp. Then, in a show of incredible force he bent the barrel into a pretzel and tossed it in the corner of the room. It never hit the ground, snatched from midair by the whitehead.

Vernon Dursley wisely backed off, protecting his family with his own body. The effect was completely destroyed by the high pitched squeak that escaped his throat.

"Now, havin' that out o' the way…" The giant said, turning his attention back to Harry. "…a very happy birthday to yeh. Sorry that it had ter be in a place like this…" He gestured around the shack, especially eying a puddle created by a leak in the roof. "Anyway –I got summat fer yeh… though I mighta sat on it at some point, it'll taste all righ'."

Only once the man reached inside his large overcoat had Harry noticed, that it was covered in pockets, their sizes ranging from normal ones to pockets capable of housing a medium-sized dog. From one of them, specifically one of the inside ones the giant pulled a box, one side of it slightly squished. Cautiously and still eying the man, Harry opened the box, revealing a large if not slightly battered chocolate cake. Surprised at seeing something like that, the young Potter stared at it for a moment, on the green icing forming the words _Happy Birthday Harry_ written with unsteady hands, having a hard time grasping the concept of this being his first ever birthday gift.

For a moment Harry was at a loss of words. He looked at the smiling giant, trying to come up with something to say, but he was unable to form any coherent thought, let alone word. It wasn't helping, that the white haired boy that accompanied him was still looking at him curiously, his eyebrow cocked like if he was surprised by something. It almost looked like if he saw something in Harry that confused him greatly, the way his stare, not hostile by any means, just investigative was fixed on his own eyes. Only after a few moments had Harry found his voice and looked back at the giant.

"Um… thank you, sir, but… who are you?" Harry was genuinely surprised that he managed to say even that. Either way, the giant chuckled at his question.

"True, haven't introduced myself, did I? Rebeus Hagrid, Keeper o' Key's an' Grounds at Hogwarts." He extended a hand and Harry tentatively shook it. Or rather Hagrid had shook Harry's whole arm, it all depended on how you looked at it.

"So… what 'bout that tee, eh?" Hagrid looked around, rubbing his hands together. Hearing no response from the Dursleys he snorted, muttering something along the lines of "figured as much" and busied himself with the fireplace. In the meantime Harry was approached by the whitehead.

The youngster, before he did anything else stood before the young Potter and crossed his hands on his chest. Confused, Harry looked at him, as he bowed slightly, his eyes still fixed on his face, and muttered something incoherently. It sounded somewhat like "Xal lil Drathir zuch ssussun dosst menvis", but for the love of him, Harry couldn't understand a word of it. It was clearly in another language, and a strange one at that; he never heard anyone speaking in it. However it somehow sounded familiar to him, like if he was supposed to know it or something. In the end however he didn't have the time to ponder this, as the whitehead straightened up and extended a hand for a shake.

"If we're introducing ourselves, might as well get this over with. I'm Zak'Talqosee Vicloth." Harry looked at him weirdly. That was one hell-of-a name, and the guy clearly noticed it, because he chuckled slightly. "I know, my name is a mouthful, especially for non-ilythiiri. Call me Zak for short."

"Um… yeah, ee… I'm Harry, Harry Potter." Harry replied, confused by the other boy's demeanor, and grasped his hand for a shake.

It was in that moment, that Harry felt extremely weird. He felt a strange warmness radiating from this Zak fellow's hand, a mysterious heat that once connected with his naked hand spread down his arm, as if wildfire engulfing a dried forest. It wasn't by any means unpleasant, nor did it hurt; in fact, it was a pleasant feeling, banishing the cold he himself had felt from lying on the wooden floor. The strangest part of all this however was that once their hands touched, Harry felt something in him stir. He couldn't quite place it, but it felt as if something inside his body, somewhere close to his heart had suddenly came to life and gave off a surge that passed him from there to the tip of his head and to the tips of his toes. A strange, electric-like surge.

Harry's face reflected his surprise clearly, twisting into a startled expression. However his brain, in spite of the shock (both figurative and literal) worked as sharply as ever, and his eyes, in spite of the darkness in the room were able to pick up a slight change in Zak's expression. The whitehead masked it well, but his eyes betrayed him, widening in surprise for a split second before he was able to hide it. It seemed that whatever Harry had felt, Zak did too.

Finally, after what seemed like a couple of minutes of just standing and looking at one another, Harry in surprise and shock, Zak with an investigative expression on his face, they both released their hands from the handshake. Only now did they notice, that the fireplace was lit, presumably by Hagrid, and that a small copper kettle with slowly heating water was hanging over it. They also noticed a few pokers with sausages on them, sizzling by the fire and letting off a mouthwatering aroma of cooked meat.

Harry went towards the fireplace, sitting in front of it and letting himself be washed by the warmth it radiated. Zak was closely behind him and the young Potter figured, that he wanted to dry himself by the fire. He was after all soaking wet, and his long, white hair stuck to his face quite firmly, forcing him once every five seconds to place a loose, wet strand behind his ear. Moments later, Hagrid slid a few sausages from one of the pokers and handed them to them both, all the while shooting looks at the Dursleys, especially Harry's pig of a cousin, who in turn eyed the food with a longing expression, in spite of his father's warnings.

Not eating too well the past few days, Harry dug in, almost swallowing his sausage whole. The meal might have been simple, but to the young Potter, who was used to eating things either even more simple, or just scraps from his "family's" table, it was like a four-course dinner, not to mention the first truly filling and warm meal this day. From the corner of his eye, the black haired youth noticed, that Zak, although he also was offered some of the delightfully delicious meal hadn't exactly ate that much. Having eaten barely one sausage, he broke the second and third one into smaller pieces and stuffed them into his backpack, which greatly confused the young boy. However, the giant named Hagrid definitely draw more attention, and seeing, that he wasn't exactly going to explain anything without prompting, Harry decided to stop his meal and ask a question that was going through his head for at least five minutes now.

"I'm terribly sorry, but I still don't really know who you two are."

Hagrid didn't answer him right away. First, he took the kettle of the fire and poured its almost boiling content into three worn and chipped mugs, preparing their tee. Only after he finished that (and poured himself a hefty dose of sugar into his mug) had he answered, a smile still hidden behind his unruly beard.

"Call me Hagrid, everyone dose. An' like I told yeh, I'm the Keeper o' Keys at Hogwarts. O' course yeh know everythin' 'bout Hogwarts, no?"

"Um… well… no, not exactly." Answered Harry, a perplexed expression on his face.

Hagrid looked at him shocked.

"I-I mean I know it's a sort of a boarding school of magic or something." Harry added hurriedly, slightly afraid that he said something wrong. "Sadly, I don't know much more than that. The letter wasn't that specific."

Hagrid's face became more relaxed once he heard Harry's explanation, that is until he heard the bit with the letter. Once the meaning of the young boy's words got to him, he looked surprised and began searching for something in the inside pockets of his coat. Finally, after finding what he was looking for, he produced a yellowish, parchment envelope.

"Yeh mean ta tell me, that yeh have yer Hogwarts letter?" He asked, handing the envelope to Harry, who took it and examined it carefully. After a moment he looked at Hagrid again and nodded.

"Yeah, I have one of these." He answered, and after just a moment he produced an almost identical, repeatedly folded one from the back pocket of his pants. Hagrid stared at him, stunned for the time being, and Zak too arched an eyebrow at the spectacle that unfolded itself right before his eyes. However, not only those two were present here with Harry.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were staring with wide eyes at their nephew, or too be more precise –at the envelope he was holding. A million thoughts must have ran through their heads in that moment, trying to comprehend what had just happened. They were sure that they got each and every one of those damned letters and destroyed them all. How could this freak get his bloody hands on one of them? At least that's what Harry thought they were thinking, their clueless expressions didn't help him much in figuring them out. Finally, after a long moment of silence, interrupted only by the occasional thunderclap or the noise of the rain pounding on the only window, someone decided to voice his opinion on this situation.

"This certainly isn't what I was expecting." Muttered Zak, although his voice seemed to carry more mirth than annoyance. "It seems that we gone and came here completely needlessly, ain't that right Hagrid?"

The giant was going to reply to the whitehead, but Vernon Dursley beat him to the punch. With a tremble to his voice and a sickly shade of purple on his face, he took a step in Harry's direction and asked trough gritted teeth:

"How long?"

Harry looked at him, slightly backing up in his sitting position, but answered nonetheless.

"Two days now." His voice was even, although inwardly he was fidgeting with fear. The last time Uncle Vernon was this furious it didn't end well, and he wasn't even talking about being locked in the cupboard for over a month.

"How?" Came the second question from his aunt's husband. This time, Harry audibly gulped.

"Snatched one from the floor while you weren't looking. The jumping to catch one flying from the fireplace was just a ruse."

"Classy." Commented Zak from his position, a slight smirk playing his face. The smirk however quickly transformed into a scowl once Vernon Dursley threw himself at his nephew, furiously trying to lay his hands on him. Fortunately, Hagrid had the presence of mind to stop him, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and holding him down. It wasn't enough though to prevent him from angrily yelling at young Harry.

"Do you have any idea what you have done, boy?! Do you have any idea what my family had to endure because of those freakish letters?! And now, after all we had done for you, you repay us like that?! You repay our generosity, the fact that we brought a freak like you under our own roof by forcing us into all this nonsense, out of our own home and into this hellhole just for your freakish pleasure?! We should have left you on the streets when we had the chance! You…"

"That's enough from yeh, Dursley." Hagrid interrupted the man before he was able to spew any more insults in Harry's way. The giant forcefully dragged the man to the wall where the rest of his family was cowering in fear, and pushed him, making him tumble and plant his face in the wooden wall. "An' stay there." Muttered Hagrid darkly under his breath, turning back to Harry, who watched the whole ordeal from his place on the floor. "Sorry 'bout that. Yer shouldn' have ter listen to that. Seein' them act like that, I gather that yeh don' have the slightest clue what's goin' on, right?"

Harry didn't answer right away, looking wide-eyed at the place, where just moments ago was an advancing Vernon Dursley, hell-bent on making his life miserable. He seen the look his uncle had in his eyes definitely too many times, and knowing what normally would come with that look, he shivered uncontrollably. He definitely did not want to be anyplace near that man for as long as he could, or at the very least have someone like Hagrid with him. And speaking of the giant –what he just witnessed was rather impressive, at least in Harry's mind. True, Uncle Vernon wasn't by any means an athletic man, nor was he stronger than your average obese mustache-wearing buffoon, but for Hagrid to just casually overpower him without even breaking a sweat? Now _that _was impressive.

It took a moment for the young Potter to notice, that the giant that strength he had just witnessed asked him something. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear his mind, Harry looked at Hagrid and repeated the question in his mind. Finally, he was able to form an answer.

"If you mean the fact, that I apparently can use 'magic', than I figured that out actually prior to the letter." Harry answered to the best of his abilities. "I mean what else could it be, that made all those weird things happen around me? Only magic. And the fact that I learned to use some of it on my own adds to that I think."

"Nah, that ain't what I meant." Hagrid waved it off, but after a moment a thought struck him. "Wait a darn moment… yeh can use some magic… consciously like?"

This time it was Harry's time to be confused. The question took him by surprise; he had already figured, that controlling some of his powers at his age was normal, or as normal as it could be having control over things that science couldn't explain. Hagrid's reaction however indicated, that he probably was wrong. Was he some kind of exception? Either way, he decided, that explaining everything would take too much time, so he decided that a small presentation was the next best thing.

He outstretched his right hand, pointing it in the direction where his ragged blanket was lying on the floor. Scrunching his face in concentration, he used that weird feeling, that now he was able to name properly as his magic, to reach out far beyond the reach of his body and grab the thin piece of cloth that served him not so long ago as a cover. Just as he expected, the moldy blanket moved without anything physical interacting with it, and then shot in the direction of Harry's outstretched hand. The young boy grabbed it out of sheer instinct, opening his eyes and looking at Hagrid with a slightly tired expression.

The giant was at a loss. He didn't expect something like that to occur, of that he was certain. Dumbledore didn't tell him anything about what he should expect, only that he was to deliver the letter at all costs and then safely escort both Harry and Zak to Diagon Alley for them to buy their school supplies. He was not prepared for Harry's apparent control over his accidental (now only by name) magic. Was that even possible, to control magic wandless? Either way, his musings were interrupted by Zak's voice, who seemed not to be that surprised by what he just witnessed, but definitely excited about it.

"Not too shabby." He commented, looking at Harry's handiwork with a strange gleam in his lilac eyes. "Not too shabby at all. Can you perchance do something else? I mean not that you need to show that to us if you're tired or something, just tell us."

"Em… well…" Harry was a bit surprised at the praise, not used to any such thing from his experience with his "family" (speaking of which, after Harry's display their eyes went wide, and aunt Petunia exchanged a worried glance with her husband, who at some point managed to get to his feet). Either way, blushing from embarrassment or not, he answered. "I… um… I can make plants grow faster by touching them… and I can produce a ball of light if I concentrate hard enough. That's about all, really, the rest I don't control."

"Make plants grow faster you say?" Zak mumbled to himself, scratching his chin in contemplation. This gave Hagrid a chance to enter the conversation, although he still was shocked by what he just saw and heard.

"Well, I always bin certain that yeh was goin' to make a great wizard one day, Harry. Now I know that fer certain. But, what I was askin' 'bout was if yeh knew 'bout our world. Actually, don' even answer, I know that those great muggles that yeh have fer relatives didn' tell yeh a thin'."

"Muggles?" Harry blinked, surprised by the term. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Zak cringe slightly at the word, like if it annoyed him.

"It's wha' we call nonmagical folk. Unfortunately, yeh got the rotten luck o' having the biggest muggles I laid my eyes on as kin." At that point he gave the Dursleys the stink-eye, which in turn made them try to blend into the wall. After a moment, Hagrid grunted and continued. "This makes all this a lot more complicated, that's fer sure. Dem muggle fools were ta tell yeh everythin' at some point, but they didn't, an'…"

"Hold on a second." Harry interrupted him, momentarily forgetting about manners and looking wide eyed first at Hagrid, and then at his aunt and uncle. "You mean to tell me, that they _knew _all along?"

"Knew?!" Came a shriek from aunt Petunia, her eyes suddenly gaining an insane spark to them. "Of course we _knew_! How could you not be one of those freaks when my own sister was a wretched hag? You think that she didn't get a latter like you? That she didn't go to that… _school_… That she wasn't as _freakish_ as you are? Oh, I despised her with all my heart, I knew what kind of monster she was, even if my own parents were blind to it. It was always Lilly this, Lilly that… to be proud of having a freak in a family! But I knew better, I knew what all this magic was about, and I wasn't going to stand her presence any longer."

She paused for a second, catching her breath. It seemed, that she was holding in this tirade for some time now, probably from her childhood, and she didn't look like she was going to be over anytime soon.

"Once she left our house with that… _Potter_… one of her lot, may he suffer in hell, I was actually glad. I wouldn't have to look at the monster my sister has become, I wouldn't have to witness her freakish 'talents'. I could finally live a normal life. But she still taunted me, even after she left: she was sending her freakish letters to me, she invaded my privacy, my home… she had the audacity to tell me who I should and shouldn't see! Only after _you _were born she stopped harassing me. But I knew… I knew that you would be the same as her and her damned husband were… that you would be just as… _abnormal_… _freakish_… as they were. And I was right! You're as much of a monster as she was! And do you know how she ended up, do you? What really happened to her all those years ago? She blown up, that what she did, and we ended up with you, freak!"

At that Harry went extremely white. He struggled to find his voice, thoughts scrambled in his brain and making no sense.

"Blown up?" He managed to whisper out, the first coherent thought taking total control over his mind. He looked at his aunt, at her furious horse-face, in her eyes burning with hate and loathing, and anger began boiling in his own heart. Color went back to his face, replacing chalk white with deep red, and before anyone noticed, he was on his feet, at his full if not unimpressive height, and glared at his aunt with the intensity of a thousand suns.

"You told me… that… my parents… died… in a car crash!" He managed to say trough gritted teeth. This short declaration brought a shocked and angry expression on Hagrid's face, bringing him to his feet and starting to berate the Dursleys, clearly furious that someone had soiled the memory of people who he was fond of by such lies (not to mention, that he was angry with them to begin with; hearing aunt Petunia's rant, it took all his self control not to roar at the woman in anger). Harry however was another matter entirely.

He stood where he was, glaring at his relatives, fists clenched and his face in a furious scowl. In that short moment he had forgotten all about his fear towards them, right now he was ready to lunge at them, even with his bear fists, and make them sorry for what they said about his family. He could take any insult directed at him, he was used to that from his time with the Dursleys. But insult his family? Insult his real, close family? Trash-talk his parents? That was a sure way to end up on the wrong side of his fists, even if they weren't capable of dealing much damage. And damn it all to hell –everyone in his old school knew that, especially after that one time that he gotten himself into trouble in a way that he knew exactly what he was answering for.

What Harry didn't know, was that his fists, tightly clenched and trembling from his rage were not acting normally. He didn't notice that, nor did Hagrid and the Dursleys, but his hands were shedding a faint, white glow, crackling from time to time with soft blue flecks of light, that disappeared as suddenly as they appeared. They were unnoticed by all but one.

Harry suddenly felt someone's hand on his shoulder. He forcefully averted his gaze from the Dursleys and looked at the hand, and then at its owner. His eyes fell on Zak. The whitehead was looking at him intentionally, his lilac eyes gleaming in the faint glow of the fireplace like two mesmerizing gems. Once he was certain, that Harry was giving him his full attention, he shook his head slightly, and muttered something, that sounded a lot like "Nau ssrig'luin whol ssissilluk, nind yorn inbau vel'bol nind rytho'le ulnin z'lonzic". And although the young Potter didn't understand a word he was saying, something in Zak's voice told him, that he should calm down, and the look in those almond-shaped eyes only reinforced that feeling. With a frustrated sigh Harry complied and took a calming breath, unclenching his fists.

There was no trace of the white glow left.

The Dursleys, from what the two smallest occupants of the hut were able to tell, were looking like they wanted nothing more than to keel over and die right now, rather than face the raging giant before them. Hagrid for his part was furiously yelling at them, venting his anger on them in a safe if not unpleasant for the Dursleys way. Those people did disrespect the memory of both Lilly and James Potter after all, and he would be damned if he didn't defend them from the likes of those muggles. He could go on and on like that, thinking up new epithets to call those people. Unfortunately for him (and fortunately for the Dursleys), he was called into order by the voice of none other than Harry himself.

"Could… could you tell me about what happened to my parents, Hagrid?" His voice was barely audible, like if he wasn't sure if he should be asking that. However the giant heard that and momentarily stopped his "scolding" and turned to look at the young teen, clearly distraught. He was most likely trying to figure out if he was actually suited to tell him the story of his parents, and in extension about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. However one look at the young lad was enough to clench his worries. "Please?"

"I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh this story." Hagrid began, his voice somber and gentle, a stark contrast to how he sounded but a few seconds ago. He sat once again at the old sofa and it sagged even lower, almost touching the ground under the giants weight. "Unfortunately, the ones that were ter tell yeh all this are a bunch o' royal bastards… erm… ignore tha' last bit… Well the point is tha' they didn' tell yeh what they should have, and yeh can't go to Hogwarts not knowin' so I'll try ma' best. Just… just don' expect ter hear the whole story from me. Parts o' it I don' know myself, an' parts o' it are great mysteries tha' I can't tell."

Harry, eager to learn about his parents, even if it meant learning how they died, sat in front of Hagrid, his back to the fireplace, eyes never leaving the giant. Zak too approached the fireplace and sat, getting himself into a position where he could easily listen in to the conversation, his curiosity piqued. Hagrid's explanations were rather interesting up to this point, and he had a sinking suspicion, that all this had something to do with a certain dark lord that ol' Silverbeard informed him of.

* * *

><p>Hagrid, as was his way of speech, began clumsily, tripping over his own explanations and getting to a near standstill once it came to the name of the dark wizard he was talking about. With much effort he managed to say the name, and immediately after that shuddered, as if he expected Voldemort to pop up out of thin air. This prompted Zak to roll his eyes of course, but he did not dear to interrupt the giant and stayed silent, trying to piece the story together.<p>

After that little mishap with the "Voldemort" bit, Hagrid's explanations gained momentum, as well as smoothness. He more or less confirmed for Zak what he already knew from Dumbledore: that this whole dark lord was your typical evil archetype of a wizard, a megalomaniac that wanted nothing more than total control over the world, or at least of a part of it. That he plunged the nation into a bloody civil war, forcing paranoia on all the wizarding population and the like. Generally, Zak wasn't impressed. Then again, he wasn't impressed by most evil wizards of his world, and some of them were quite successful when it came to fulfilling their wicked dreams. Harry however… well, that was a totally different story on its own.

As much as Harry was already accustomed to thinking about there being magic, the thought of there being an evil wizard, that not so long ago was ravaging the nation and terrorizing other magic users was completely alien to him. Now however, thanks to Hagrid's explanation he knew what to expect from the new world he apparently was going to be part of. He knew now, that it was as gray as the one he grew up in, and that there always was the possibility of some other bastard (and yes, he knew the word; he wasn't going to school with earplugs after all) decided to follow up in this "Voldemort" character's footsteps. And then his parents came into play.

He was ecstatic to learn anything about the parents he never knew. And as it turned out, Hagrid was a real goldmine in that regard. He was, as was clear from the beginning, really fond of his mum and dad, and spoke in really high regards about them both. Alas, he didn't go into too much detail at the time, having a much more grim subject to attend to, but it was clear, that if Harry ever wanted to, he could ask the giant about his family, and he would be glad to tell him everything he knew. Right now he limited himself to telling him, that in his eyes they both were the nicest people he knew, and that it was a real tragedy that they died, a tragedy that he to this very day was upset about.

Finally, the moment in which Harry was to learn about what happened to his parents came, and it wasn't anything he was expecting. Apparently, his parents were in strong opposition to this Voldemort (a fact that he was already proud of), and thus they were targeted by him. Now, Hagrid didn't knew exactly what happened ten years ago, but from what he was able to piece from the stories circulating the magical world, the Dark Lord somehow found out their hiding place and murdered both his parents in cold blood. And apparently he was going to murder Harry as well, but somehow, due to unexplainable circumstances he managed to survive, getting out of this whole ordeal with but one wound, the one he was carrying as a scar nowadays on his forehead. What was even more extraordinaire was the fact, that at that night, the power of Lord Voldemort was vanquished and he himself all but disappeared, vanishing without a trace.

This bit of information once again spiked Zak's interest, and he regarded Harry in a slightly new light. Being able to vanquish a powerful wizard at the pinnacle of his power while being a baby? Either there was powerful magic at work there, or what he felt radiating from the boy when they first met had more to it than he initially thought. Either way, the fact that he lived through something like that was short of a miracle, and it impressed him greatly. Problem is, Harry himself looked skeptical at that revelation.

There was a slight hiccup on the way in the form of one Vernon Dursley, who apparently found the measly amount of courage that he had and decided to add his thoughts on the matter. Suffice to say, he was quickly silenced by Hagrid once he let it slip, that he believed that a beating would be able to cure Harry out of magic, or rather "the freakiness that you posses" as per his words. Harry was really beginning to dread the moment he was going to stay with those people (he refused to call them his family) alone. And Zak was getting more and more annoyed by them.

There were some questions that Harry had, most of them concerning Voldemort's sudden disappearance. Unfortunately, Hagrid didn't have the answers. All he could say, was that he did not believe that Voldemort truly died that faithful night, nor did he believe that he was just waiting in the shadows for a moment to strike, considering his followers were as confused by his departure as anyone else. The most logical answer in his opinion was that he was too weak to do anything right now, and that whatever rendered him neigh powerless –it had something to do with Harry and his magic.

Harry was, once again, skeptical about all this. He was after all only a baby back then, how could he had been powerful enough to defeat an experienced dark wizard? It didn't add up in his book, not without some kind of outside help or unimaginable luck shining upon him that night. What was it, that helped him back then –he did not know, but whatever it was, it definitely didn't save him from the Dursleys and their hate towards him.

Zak for his part too was contemplating what he has just learned. If he didn't know any better he would say, that this whole Voldemort actually formed some kind of failsafe in case he ever was reduced to a corpse, and that usually involved either cloning (which he seriously doubted), or lichdome (which again he seriously doubted). Considering the probable level of magic this world possessed, both options were definitely out of Voldemort's reach. However, if the drow was a dark wizard that didn't fear killing people personally, he would do something to ensure, that he would somehow survive death itself, whatever the means to do so in this world were. It was only logical to assume, that the whole Voldemort wizard was going to return sooner or later, and knowing his luck, Zak would somehow get involved in this. That would be just his friggin' luck.

Finally, after a few moments of either silent contemplation or sticking to denial, Hagrid was able to continue his tale, moving from Harry's personal history as well as a simple overview of the modern history of magical Britain to Hogwarts itself. In a few sentences he conveyed what he thought about the school as a whole (which by the way was an extremely high opinion if Zak was to comment on it). He also mentioned to Harry, as well as to Zak, who he figured could use some information regardless of him being in the castle already, that there would be dozens, if not hundreds of other kids with talents similar to them, and that they would be learning magic from the best the United Kingdom had to offer. He was going to get into more detail about the different subjects they would be learning there, if it wasn't for uncle Vernon, who once again decided to add his share of useless comments, especially regarding some of the school supplies Harry was to acquire.

"Haven't I told you the freak's not going?" The mustached menace hissed. "He's going to Stonewell High and he'll be grateful for it. I've read trough those blasted letters, I know about all the needless rubbish you want him to spend our hard earned money on –wands, spellbooks, cauldrons…"

"Like yer one ter decide." Hagrid muttered darkly, glaring daggers at the man. "Yeh can't stop Lilly's an' James' Potter's son from goin' to Hogwarts. He was enrolled there before he even could walk, an' no great muggle like yerself can stop him from attendin'. He's gonna be taught under the greatest wizards an' witches o' the world, an' he'll be under the greatest headmaster the school has ever known, Albus Dumbledore…"

"I'M NOT PAYING SOME OLD MADCAP FOOL FOR TEACHING HIM SOME PARLOR TRICKS!" Vernon Dursley announced furiously. Soon enough he learned, that it was a bad thing to do, especially if you are insulting Albus "To-Many-Names" Dumbledore in front of Hagrid.

The giant rose to his feet in a blink of an eye, brandishing his pink umbrella as if it was a rapier. It was unclear what he was going to do with it –poke the head of the Dursley family to death with it, or bash him in the skull –but one thing was sure, and that was the fact, that Hagrid definitely wanted to do some harm to him.

"NEVER –INSULT –ALBUS –DUMBLEDORE –IN –FRONT –OF –ME!" Hagrid's voice carried an unmasked threat within each syllable of his words. With each word he pointed his most unusual weapon closer and closer to the fat man, until the tip of the umbrella almost touched his chest. Then however the giant whirled around quickly, muttering something under his breath, and pointed the tip of the umbrella at none other than Dudley, who in all the confusion was inching his way towards the cake that still lied inside its slightly battered container.

There was a flash of violet light and a loud crack, definitely more silent than the occasional thunderclaps yet still loud enough to deafen for a moment the occupants of the room. Only after a moment, when the bright light that filled the room faded and the ringing in the ears of the occupants of the small hut subsided were they able to notice, that Dudley was howling in what apparently was pain, clutching his fat rear and making a wild, terrified dance. On first glance nothing seemed too out of the ordinary with him, that is besides the obvious. Only after a moment was Harry and Zak able to notice what really happened.

Through a hole in Dudley's trousers a pink, curly pig's tail was poking out, giving the boy the appearance of an anthropomorphic piglet. Seeing this, Vernon Dursley roared in both rage and fright. His wife, more level-headed than her apparently completely frenzied husband managed to stop him from attacking Hagrid, who by the way looked like he wanted nothing more than to get an excuse to curse the man all the way into next year, grab her "wounded" "little" boy and usher the whole family into their bedroom, casting a last, terrified glance at the giant. After that, there was only a slam of the hastily closed door.

"I really shouldn'ta done tha'." Mumbled Hagrid a little bit sheepishly, stroking his beard. "But they had it commin'. It didn' work properly either –I was hopin' ter turn him into a pig. Apparently he was one already, jus' without tha tail."

He cast a glance at the two young wizards that were the only occupants of the room left. Both were silently chuckling.

"Cold ye do me a favor? Don' talk 'bout this with anyone, 'specially at Hogwarts." Harry and Zak cast him a questioning glance, so he continued. "I'm –well –not supposed ter use magic. At least not much. One of tha reasons why I was so keen ter bring yeh yer letter was so tha' I could use it a bit."

"You're not supposed to use magic?" Asked Zak incredulously, the concept alien to him. "Why not?"

"Well, yeh see… I went to Hogwarts myself when I was yer age, but… erm… I got expelled. In my third year to be exact. Snapped my wand in half an' all tha'. But Dumbledore let me stay as a gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore."

For a moment Zak contemplated asking Hagrid why was he expelled, but thought better of it and stayed silent. It was obvious that the giant wasn't comfortable with talking about that incident, so he wasn't going to impose. Besides, after what he witnessed he decided, that he didn't want to be on Hagrid's bad side. Harry himself also noticed the anxiousness of the large man, so he wisely stayed silent.

After a moment of awkward silence Hagrid decided to once more take a seat on the battered sofa, this time completely obliterating its poor legs and making it thump on the wooden floor with a crash. Harry, still a bit dazed by the events of the last couple of minutes (or rather hour, if he wanted to be exact) took his place on the floor, watching the giant. Zak once again positioned himself in front of the fireplace, bathing in the warm glow of the fire. Eventually, Hagrid cleared his throat and once again started his tale about Hogwarts.

* * *

><p>It wasn't long before the giant shared all that he knew about the school that he worked at and the few bits of information about some of the more noticeable and important for a typical first year professors, as well as the basics of what they were going to teach them. Zak noticed right away, that Hagrid omitted one particular character –the slimy bastard that threatened him… Snape, was it? From what he remembered, Dumbledore called him a Potions Master or something like that, and Hagrid did mention potions as a class all first year students had, yet he didn't say a word about the man. It was… suspicious for the drow, to say the least.<p>

After a few moments more it became apparent, that Harry was getting tired. The whitehead supposed, that it was only natural –he was human after all, and humans, like most races, needed sleep. So, deciding that enough was enough, Hagrid called it a night, and made the young boy a makeshift bed from his furry coat. The giant did ask, if they were okay with sharing their sleeping arrangements this one time, but fortunately, Zak had it all covered and politely declined the offer. Seeing the rather surprised expression on Hagrid's face he was forced to bring out his sleeping bag from his backpack (it was a bit surprising for the two of them that he managed to fit it inside the bag, but shrugged it off quite quickly), and prepare it for himself, letting Kelell out of the bag at the same time (which was a surprise for Harry this time, although he was too tired to think too much about it). Not that Zak planned on sleeping, he was after all physically unable to do that. All in all, a slightly awkward situation was avoided to the drow's relief. It would be rather uncomfortable if he needed to share a bed with a child.

Harry was really tired as it would seem, for the moment his head touched the warm and soft fabric of the fur coat he fell asleep. Hagrid smiled at the sight, and after that he was preparing to go to sleep himself, only to remember, that he needed to do something before he went to bed. Gently, as to not wake Harry up he reached into a few of his vast pockets in his coat and retrieved a number of items: a piece of parchment, a quill, an inkwell and an owl. That's right, Zak wasn't seeing thing, even if he was completely stunned by fact, that the giant was carrying around a bird with him the whole time. Then again, he did have a crow in his backpack not too long ago, so he wasn't one to talk. Either way, Hagrid hastily scribbled a few words on the parchment, gave it to the ruffled-looking and clearly not amused bird and sent in trough the window, right into the middle of the raging thunderstorm, just like if it was the most normal thing in the world. That only reinforced one old truth, that Zak believed in: humans were weird.

A few minutes later Zak was able to distinguish the unmistakable sound of the large man snoring on his sofa, clearly deep in slumber. The drow sighed silently to himself, dragged his hand trough his hair, combing a few tangled strands of it, and rested his back against the back of the sofa. The gravity of the situation at hand was slowly coming back to him, and he desperately racked his brain for a possible way out of this predicament. He knew that in theory, once a spell as powerful as the one that Khrel-Ithyr used on him was cast, the only way to brake it was to use an equally powerful magic as a countermeasure. If the skull's words were true however, he had really small chances of even coming close to the amount of power that was used on him.

Theoretically, a spell known as a Wish (at least he heard it called that way) could possibly work in this situation. That is, if he was able to cast it. Only a precious few wizards were able to harness the powers of creation on such a grand level, and they all were still on Toril. He, stuck in a world where magic apparently was only a shadow of its former glory had almost no chances of coming across such power at all, and he knew too little about the Wish spell to even consider trying to recreate it on his own. And then there was the odd chance, that the spell would prove to be too weak to actually help him get to his old body. This was beginning to look worse and worse with each passing second.

He needed to busy his mind with something else, Zak decided, or else he'd be risking getting on the downward spiral leading to depression. Last time that happened, it didn't end well, for him _and _for his surroundings. He could ponder the fact he was trapped in a body with no pointy ears… damn, how he missed those… later he decided. Especially, that he had just an hour or so ago made the biggest up to date discovery in this particular world, at least in his personal opinion. And the discovery was named Harry Potter.

The boy all the way from the first time he laid eyes on him seemed different. Short, skinny, with a wild mane of black hair, he didn't look quite that impressive at first glance. That is, if it wasn't for his eyes. Zak didn't know what to think at first, seeing his green, sapphire-like orbs gleam in the darkness. He have seen that eye color, so intensive and so lush, only a few times in his life, and that was before he even abandoned his old hometown. The green eyes of the boy were the same color, as eyes of some drow. Not the same shape, as that would be too weird, but still –they would look quite at place on a obsidian-black face, framed by locks of white hair.

The drow for a few moments pondered the possibility of Harry having some kind of elven ancestry, but he quickly dismissed the possibility. Haven't Dumbledore told him, that his kind was but a legend, a myth from the olden days in this world? Still, the color of the eyes mesmerized the drow and sent his mind into overdrive.

Then there was the fact, that he was able to use some simple spells. The small display of power the young boy had shown was enough to spike his interest. The trick with the blanket seemed to resemble the Mage's Hand spell, he even seen the patterns of magic flowing through the boy's hand and around the said blanket, matching what he came to associate with that small cantrip. And if he was to believe what he had told about the other things: being able to summon lights, making plants grow faster… If he didn't know any better, he would say that this Harry character was just taking his first steps on the path to become not a wizard, but a sorcerer. In short, he was beginning to look extremely interesting in the eyes of the drow Spellsword.

And then there was the issue with the handshake.

The moment Harry and Zak touched their respective outstretched hands, the drow knew, that something that he wouldn't in a million years expect had just happened. The strange feeling, the sensation, that accompanied the touch –like if a small, electrical current shot through his body, making him pleasantly numb for a brief moment and in the same time making his hair stand for a second on the back of his neck –it was as surprising, as it was familiar to him. He felt something like that before: only once, true, and it felt slightly different that time, but still –he felt it. And the fact, that his insides began radiating a pleasant warmness throughout his body added to his suspicion. He just found someone with the same gift as he had.

He was going to ponder that piece of information a bit more, trying to discern how exactly someone of this world had such an unusual and rare power, when he felt his crow companion land on his shoulder. He didn't think much of it, figuring, that Kelell just wanted to sit around with him and possibly ask him about his thought. Unfortunately, he didn't predict a furious beak to the ear.

"Hey, what gives?!" Zak whirled around to face the crow, rubbing his pecked ear. He definitely felt a bit of blood seeping through a cut made by the avian. "What's the big idea?!"

"Oh, you know full well what gives, you sadistic, two-legged bastard!" Kelell exclaimed, although silently, as to not wake up the other occupants of the room. Now that the drow took a good look at his familiar, he noticed his feathers bristling in anger. "You put me in a blasted backpack with hardly any air, and then proceed to drag me who knows where for the next few hours, letting me slowly suffocate, and then you have the audacity to try and buy me with some overcooked sausage. What are you, trying to kill me?!"

Zak stared at him for a moment with a not amused expression on his face, still rubbing his sore ear.

"If you had the presence of mind, you would notice, that there was a Bottle of Air in the bag, that you could use to breath." He stated flatly. This only reinforced the glare, that the bird was giving the wizard.

"If you had the presence of mind, you would remember, that you moved the damned bottle to the lab a few days before all this happened." Kelell retorted. Zak's face paled at that.

"You mean to tell me…" He trailed off, seeing his avian friend ostentatiously turning his back to him and pointedly ignoring him. Zak hid his face in his hands and groaned, after which he looked again at his familiar. "Sorry about that. You're right, I should have remembered that and kept the backpack partially opened for you. My bad."

Kelell still ignored him, and if he could do something like that, he would have crossed his wings on his chest. Zak rolled his eyes at that, but nevertheless continued.

"Listen, Kelell, I really feel like an ass right about now. I mean you know that I wouldn't do that if I remembered about that bottle not being there. If you want, I'll prepare a Pocket spell for tomorrow, just for you? How does that that sound? You happy now?"

"Barely pleased would be a better way to put it, but okay." The crow answered, yet still didn't look at his master. After a moment of silence the crow added. "You're running low on the mushroom extract."

That took Zak by surprise. He looked first at his familiar, then at his backpack, and then once again at Kelell, his eyes widening with every passing second. Those weren't good news.

"How… how much?" He asked, a bit of a nervous tremble to his voice. Only then did the crow look at his boss, and the look he gave him was definitely not one that spoke of hidden amusement at a prank. He was dead serious.

"Nothing to worry about right now –you have enough to last you a few months if you carefully dose the stuff. Possibly even a year and a half. I just thought that you should know and begin making arrangements for a large shipment of fungi."

"Sweet Eilistraee, how I hate that stuff." Zak visibly shivered, the thought of mushrooms of any kind making him pale. Kelell however suddenly perked up, a slight shine to his beady little eyes, clearly indicating, that he was in "pranking mode".

"That reminds me –when did you take that extract the last time?" At the blank face of his master, Kelell had a hard time to not laugh outright. "Let me guess –before we ended up here, ain't that right?"

Zak, resigned to his fate reached inside his backpack and produced a smile vial of clear liquid, looking like if it was water. The drow unfortunately knew exactly what was the concoction that rested inside the glass utensil, and dreaded the taste of it as much as he dreaded Tris. Steeling himself for what was to come, the whitehead took a deep breath, uncorked the vial and downed its content in one large gulp, shivering as the liquid run down his throat. He caught a bit, the vile taste of fungi, the worst possible thing in the world for him to eat lingering in his mouth. All trough that, Kelell was audibly chuckling to himself. Zak glared at the avian for a moment, but then lowered his head in defeat.

"I guess I deserved that." He muttered, and the crow was all too eager to nod in agreement.

A flash of lightning caught the eye of the black bird, bringing his attention to the only window in the room. Kelell, the curious bird as he was, decided to check out his new surroundings. With a few flaps of his wings he reached the windowsill and peered out the glass barer, studying the area. He stared, stunned at what he saw, and then looked back at Zak, who still was trying to get the vile taste out of his mouth, this time trying to do that by gulping down mouthfuls of water from his waterskin.

"We're on the middle of the sea." Kelell announced. Zak looked at him with a "you don't say" type of expression.

"Tell me something that I don't know."

The crow looked once more out the window, and again turned his head in the drow's direction.

"We're on the middle of the sea." He repeated. "And you're perfectly fine with that?"

"Hey, it's not like we're on boat or something. We're on dry land… as much as a rocky island the size of a barn can be called dry land that is." He shrugged.

"I admit –I'm impressed." Announced Kelell, perching himself on Zak's shoulder once more. "Normally you would freak out if you knew, that you're surrounded by a large body of water. Hells, you're normally scared out of your mind even on a boat on the middle of a large lake. And here you are, a paragon of calmness, shrugging off the fact, that there is a storm raging outside, twenty foot tall waves crashing at the rocky shore, slowly eroding the stone into nothing more than little pebbles, on the middle of an alien sea, the closest shore miles away from here, and to get there you would have to swim the whole way trough icy cold water…"

"Shut up already!" Zak finally snapped, although he did look a fair bit spooked by his familiars words. It was no secret –he wasn't fond of seas. He was even terrified at the prospect of staying on a ship if he couldn't see the nearest shore. And Kelell knew that full well, and decided to play on his Boss' fears for his own amusement. One thing however was for sure.

Zak would not spend the night peacefully.

* * *

><p><strong>*Drowish for Mystery of the green eyes<strong>


End file.
